


The Reading Of The Will

by happydaygirl



Series: The Misfits ‘Verse [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Porthos, Hurt Aramis, Hurt Athos, Murder Mystery, Paintballing, Team Building, badass librarians, trouble follows these guys around I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaygirl/pseuds/happydaygirl
Summary: Modern AU- the boys are sent off on a team building weekend deep in the Devon Countryside. Everything starts off innocently enough, but trouble is never far away where these four men are concerned..
Series: The Misfits ‘Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877962
Comments: 52
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

'I just don't understand why we have to come all the way out _here_ for a team building weekend...'

'That's because you're boring, Athos, and have no sense of imagination.'

Athos sighed haughtily at his friend's words, casting Aramis a side-eyed glare from the passenger seat before turning to look out of the car window at the passing countryside as it sped past in a whirl of greens and browns. Porthos chuckled from the back seat as Aramis barked out a laugh at the expression on the other man's face, shaking his head as Athos sat up straighter.

'We could have had a pub crawl back in London,' he muttered after a minute or two, shrugging as he took a swig of coke from the bottle he was holding. ' _That's_ team building.'

'But we do that every weekend!' d'Artagnan replied from the back where he was sitting next to Porthos, munching on a packet of Wotsits. 'And besides, Devon is pretty!'

'Alright... it could have been a wine tasting weekend, though.' Athos said instead, trying not to smile as everyone else in the car groaned.

'Why does everything fun with you have to revolve around alcohol?!' Aramis grinned from the driver's seat, shaking his head before slowing the car at a junction. 'We solve a case- lets go to the pub!'

'Treville sends us home early- lets go to the pub!' Porthos piped up, chuckling.

'The shop stops selling that brand of crisps you really like- let's go to the pub instead!' d'Artagnan added, laughing as Athos turned round and gave them both a look.

'I just like the pub, is all,' he replied somewhat defensively.

'Well, there might be a pub there, who knows?' Aramis shrugged as he meandered the car through the tight country roads, peering round overgrown corners to check for passing tractors.

'According to Treville, its pretty much out in the middle of nowhere.' Porthos commented, hooking the invitation and introductory leaflet from his jacket pocket. 'Stackworth House, it's called...'

'Fancy name,' Aramis replied, drumming along to the song on the radio on the steering wheel as he stopped for a motorist coming the other way down the narrow road.

'Does it say what the activities are?' Athos asked as they got going again. They couldn't be far now, he thought; it felt like they had been driving for hours.

'It says "a weekend of transcendental meditation, Bikram yoga and clean eating..."' Porthos said lightly, grinning as he felt the car grind to a halt and three pairs of eyes turn to look at him.

'Only joking, lads- it says paintball and a murder mystery dinner!' he added, laughing as they visibly relaxed and Aramis started driving again.

'Thought I'd died and gone to hell then...' d'Artagnan sighed, shaking his head with a smile as Porthos dug him in the ribs.

'Murder mystery dinner?' Aramis said as he looked across at a crossroads sign that finally mentioned Stackworth House, and headed in that direction. 'Is that like Agatha Christie? We have to guess whodunnit?'

'Yep,' Athos said, rolling his eyes, like he did the first time he read the leaflet. 'Exciting,' he dead-panned.

'Have you been to one before, then?' Porthos asked.

'Once- it was a disaster. Everyone got so drunk the "murderer" forgot that they had killed the victim, and we all spent the evening trying to decipher what we thought were clues chiselled into a flower pot that turned out to be just patterns already in the clay.' Athos sighed, shaking his head.

'Well, hopefully this one will be better!' Aramis nodded- he craned his neck round a corner, before he looked up to the rear view mirror as Porthos let out a surprised laugh and pulled a large green bag from the foot-well near his feet, a quizzical look on his face. 'Jesus, how big is this first aid kit, Aramis?' he grinned, patting the top of it as he moved it to the seat between him and d'Artagnan.

'Can't be too careful, I know what you three are like!' Aramis grinned.

'I don't know what you mean...' Athos said sarcastically, shaking his head.

'No?' Aramis scoffed, turning left at a crossroads. He looked over to d'Artagnan with a rueful smile, who was looking at them all with a quizzical expression on his face- this was to be the first team building weekend he had gone on since joining the force, after all.

'Whose shoulder did I have to put back into place when he fell out of that Zorbing ball last year?' Aramis said, looking pointedly in the mirror at Porthos, who chuckled.

'And whose hand did I have to clean up and bandage when he caught it on that rock during the spelunking weekend the year before?' Aramis now turned to Athos, who flexed his hand in remembrance.

'Perhaps you've got a point.' He said with a smile.

'I know I've got a point!' Aramis laughed, before nodding his head towards d'Artagnan. 'Who knows what this one is going to get up to this year!'

'I am a careful boy, I'll have you know.' d'Artagnan told him with a nod, smiling as Porthos chuckled beside him. 'I can look after myself for one weekend.'

'Yeah, sure you can...' Aramis chuckled, before letting out a whoop as they turned into the gravelled driveway of a grand house.

It was a large, three storey brick affair, with a thatched roof and red- painted window frames. It looked like an old manor house; there was a thick copse of trees on all three sides, making it look imposing even in the sunshine. A ramshackle barn stood to the left, probably housing a number of vintage cars, Aramis would wager.

'This looks posh,' d'Artagnan muttered, peering up at the house through the window, at the black beams that interspersed the brickwork.

'Yeah it does...' Athos agreed as Aramis slowly moved the car to a marked out car park.

'Might be fun?' he said as he switched off the ignition. 'Come on, lets go and have a look-we're here for the whole weekend, after all.'

The four men exited the car, squinting in the summer sun. Country air smelled so different, Porthos thought to himself as he breathed in deeply, a smile on his face-so fresh, so crisp, so-

'Is that manure I can smell?' Aramis grumbled, crinkling his nose as an acrid smell reached them from the fields surrounding the house.

'We're in the middle of the arse-end of nowhere, deep in farm country!' Athos chided, shaking his head as Aramis popped open the boot of the car so they could get their bags. 'It's not going to smell of roses!'

'Touché.' Aramis chuckled as he passed out the luggage. 'Come on then, let's go check in,' he said as he slammed the boot closed and locked the car, striding to the front door.

'Are you not taking the contents of the set of M.A.S.H inside?' Porthos called after him, pointing to the first aid kit through the car window.

'Nah, it'll take up too much room- at least if its out here I can reach it easily!' Aramis replied, shouldering his bag and following Athos to the door.

'M.A.S.H?' d'Artagnan repeated, frowning at the bigger man as they walked together. 'What's that?'

'God I feel old...' Porthos lamented as he shook his head, clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder. 'I'll tell ya when you're older.' He chuckled, shaking his head ruefully as they stepped over the threshold.

The inside of the house was surprisingly bright and spacious; the hallway that led to the main rooms had a built in check-in desk to the side, where a middle-aged woman with a severe haircut stood, a broad smile on her face as they walked in.

'Good afternoon, gentleman,' she greeted them, her west-country accent most endearing to their city ears. 'Are you here to check in?'

'We are indeed, my lovely lady,' Aramis smiled, eyes twinkling as the woman let out a high-pitched giggle at his words before smoothing her hair subconsciously. The other three exchanged knowing looks as Aramis stepped closer to the woman, whom they could see from her name badge was called 'Janice', and bent down to sign their names in the check in book.

'I've put you all on the third floor- you've got the floor to yourselves, as we only have one more set of guests joining us for the weekend.' Jan all-but purred, twisting a strand of hair around her fingers as Aramis put the pen down.

'That sounds wonderful...' Aramis pretended to squint at the name badge attached to her chest. '...Janice.'

'Oh please, call me Jan,' Jan giggled again, flapping her hand dismissively at her name. 'Janice is such a school-teacher's name, don't you think?'

'I think its perfect.' Aramis said easily, before all four men looked up as a tall, muscly, broad-shouldered man came down the hallway and behind the desk, placing a hand on Jan's arm.

'Just checking in, lads?' he said, voice strong and loud in the quiet of the house.

'That we are.' Aramis said, stepping back easily, smiling across to Jan as they gathered their bags. 'Third floor, did you say?'

'Yes- did you want me to show you the way?'

Aramis was just about to open his mouth when Athos cleared his throat. 'There's no need- I am sure we can find our way.' he said, nodding across to Jan, who looked a little put-out.

'Dinner is at seven in the dining area, and I can introduce the other guests and tell you all about the fun we are going to have this weekend.' She said instead, the smile back on her face.

'Sounds wonderful.' Aramis smiled, nodding across at her, whilst steadfastly ignoring the boyfriend.

'Come on, Lothario, let's go.' Athos muttered under his breath, pushing Aramis in the lower back to get him moving, up the creaky, narrow stairs, to their floor.

* * *

'Who do you reckon the other guests are?' d'Artagnan mused to the room at large as he lounged on Aramis' bed by the window, arms crossed behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. The third floor was divided into two huge rooms and a large shared bathroom; they had each drawn straws, due to the fact no one wanted to sleep in the same room as Porthos, who snored like a fog-horn and frequently kept others awake during the down time of stake-outs.

D'Artagnan had been the 'lucky' recipient of the shortest straw, but they had decided to while away the couple of hours before dinner in Athos and Aramis' room; the view was better in their room, they had discovered- rolling countryside as far as the eye could see, with the occasional splash of colour from a wild-flower meadow amongst the golden fields of barley and corn.

'People with a sense of fun, I hope.' Aramis said from the wardrobe, where he was hanging his clothes neatly.

'Why do you bother doing that?' Porthos asked, a frown on his face as he watched Aramis smooth down the arm of his dinner jacket. 'We're only staying the weekend.'

'You may like having creases in your clothes, Porthos, but I do not.' Aramis chuckled, ducking as Porthos threw a balled-up pair of socks at his head from his own bag.

'Hopefully they're proficient at paintball.' Athos said from his own bed, where he was carefully taking out a plastic bag that clinked suspiciously as he laid it on his duvet. 'It's about time I had decent competitors to play with.'

'Uh, excuse me!' Aramis feigned surprise as he nodded at the bag. 'And what do you think you're doing with all that!?'

Athos didn't answer him as he pulled out a number of mini-sized bottles of red wine and stacked them on his bedside table. 'What?' he said, as he noticed all conversation around him had stopped.

'You're unbelievable,' Aramis grinned, shaking his head as Athos shrugged, balling the plastic bag up in his hands before stowing it in his bag. 'Did you see a pub on the way here?' he muttered, eyebrows raised as no one answered him. 'Good job I thought to bring provisions.'

'I think I'll pop in the shower before we head down to dinner, freshen up a bit.' Aramis said as he grabbed his towel and wash-bag, 'won't be long!' he sing-songed, shutting the door behind him- where he promptly ran into a shadowed figure walking fast down the darkened corridor, causing him to fall back to the wall, all the breath knocked out of him.

'Oh, I'm terribly sorry, please forgive me!' the figure said, voice clipped with a very strong Queen's English accent. Gasping for breath, Aramis quickly flicked on the light switch, revealing a tall, portly man with greying hair, a long, narrow face and thin-framed spectacles, massaging his shoulder.

'I do beg your pardon!' he apologised again, mouth agape. 'I seem to have lost my way!'

'No problem Sir, its alright.' Aramis assured him, smiling to himself as the man brushed himself down. 'I think you're on the wrong floor, though.'

Looking around, the man nodded slowly. 'Do you know, I do believe you're right.' he said, before holding out his hand. 'Richard Beaumont.'

Smiling, Aramis took the proffered hand and shook it, marvelling at the strong grip. 'Rene d'Herblay, but you can call me Aramis.' he replied, noticing Richard' face pique with interest.

'Your name, is it French?'

'Yes, my family moved over before I was born.'

'I see- well, I expect I will be seeing you and your friends at dinner tonight- we are staying the weekend too,' Richard said, voice light as he stepped backwards, doffing his head slightly before turning and walking away without another word.

Shaking his head slightly in bemusement, Aramis continued on his way to the bathroom, marvelling at what the other guests were going to be like...paint balling was about to get interesting, that was for sure, he thought, smiling to himself as he shut the door, sliding the lock across the door behind him to stop any more unwelcome visits.


	2. Chapter 2

A hazy, golden dusk was falling around the countryside as seven o'clock rolled round- each man was dressed in their finest evening wear for the occasion, everyone apart from d'Artagnan, that was, who had forgotten his smart black suit shoes. Athos looked down distastefully at d'Artagnan's white trainers as they walked down to dinner- 'I told you you could have borrowed my spare pair,' he muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

'And I told you that they're about three sizes too small!' the younger man shot back. 'I'm sorry, alright- ten points from Gryffindor...'

'Gryffindor?' Aramis mused as they walked down the corridor to the dining room, frowning. 'You're definitely a Hufflepuff!'

'I am not!' d'Artagnan replied, affronted, 'I will have you know I did one of those online quizzes, and-'

'Gentleman, please,' Athos growled, rolling his eyes. 'A little decorum?'

Aramis held back a snort as Athos passed him in the corridor, before silently laughing alongside d'Artagnan as they followed him into the dining hall.

The room was large and spacious, tastefully decorated with portraits hanging on each wall; a large fireplace took up a whole wall to the left. The space to the right had a large wooden table in the middle of the room, where the other guests were already seated, each spaced out with a chair between them.

'Do we just sit down, or are there rules here?' Aramis asked as they approached, smiling over at the guests. Each one looked to be at least over sixty years old, with either white or rapidly-greying hair; there were four in total, two men and two women.

A woman across the table from them, dressed in a richly-coloured evening dress of decadent blue, shrugged, her gold hooped earrings clinking slightly as she moved. 'We were told to leave a space, darling,' she said with a smile, her accent as clipped as Richard's had been; the man himself nodded over to Aramis as each of the men shrugged and sat in an empty seat, next to one of the other guests.

'That's the point of team-building, Deborah, is it not?' the man sitting next to Porthos said, a hand curled around his glass of whiskey. 'To get to know others?'

'I suppose so,' Deborah said, her scarlet lipstick a stark contrast against her piercing blue eyes. She turned to d'Artagnan, who had sat next to her, and who was looking around the room.

'And who might you be?' She said, voice suddenly demure as she looked him up and down.

'Oh, do leave him alone, Debs,' Richard said, voice high with humour as d'Artagnan felt heat creep up his neck as Deborah leaned forwards slightly and placed a hand on his forearm. 'The poor fellow's barely out of nappies, look at him!'

'I was only asking, Richard.' She snapped, not taking her eyes off the younger man. 'I'm _team-building_...' she added, arching an eyebrow.

'I think you've met your match there,' Athos leaned back in his seat and whispered to Aramis, who tried not to laugh as Deborah moved back, clearly enjoying d'Artagnan's reactions.

Everyone looked up as a bell sounded from somewhere in front of them- Janice walked into the room, her hair coiffed and wearing a figure-hugging red dress that twinkled in the candlelight.

'Good evening, everyone!' she said, her voice reverberating around the room. 'I hope you all had an pleasant trip down here- this whole weekend is just for you; I hope you enjoy!' she said, smiling at each person seated at the table. 'As you know, this weekend involves an afternoon of paintballing tomorrow-'

'Yes,' Deborah said, rolling her eyes at a woman with long white hair sitting across from her, who Porthos saw was trying to hold in a grin. ' _Someone_ didn't read the whole leaflet when they booked this trip, did they, Mo?' she said, not unkindly.

'I may have missed that part out, yes,' Mo sniffed, shrugging as she smoothed down the material of her green dress. 'Might be fun.'

'It would be fun if you looked like _them_ -' Deborah looked over at Aramis and Porthos, who tried not to snort.

'Of course, you don't have to participate,' Janice said quickly, but Deborah shrugged again.

'We will give it a go, of course- what's the worst that can happen?' She said to the room at large, earning Athos' respect immediately.

'We'll go easy on you,' d'Artagnan assured her- Deborah chuckled lightly, placing her hand on his forearm once again.

'Oh please don't,' she purred, 'I do _hate_ to be mollycoddled.' she added, eyebrow quirked.

'Well, if you're sure.' Janice said, before clearing her throat as Deborah finally took her eyes off d'Artagnan. 'And then in the evening there will be a murder mystery dinner, entitled "The Reading of the Will."'

'Sounds droll.' Richard commented, before he took another gulp of his pint of bitter.

'At the end of this dinner I will pass around your character cards, and a secret card detailing your characters initial motivations, and, in some cases, some extra instructions.' Janice said, before clapping her hands. 'Now, for dinner- enjoy, and I will see you at eleven am in the gardens, after breakfast,' she said, before stepping from the room, closing the dining room door behind her.

A few moments passed before two waiters appeared from a side door, each carrying a tray of wine- each person accepted, and they drank in silence for a few minutes before Richard cleared his throat, wiping red wine from his top lip as he did so.

'I suppose we should really introduce ourselves a bit more,' he said, looking around the table. 'I am Richard, you have met Debs already, of course, and Mo over there...' he cast a hand to a man in his late sixties, or perhaps even his early seventies, with brown hair speckled with grey, who nodded at them. 'And this is Stan. Together we make up the team at Winstable library services.'

'You're librarians?' Porthos asked, smiling. This sounded fun...

'Yes, we hold the fort in the children's section.' Mo said, sipping from her wine. 'A dangerous job at the best of times.'

'I bet..' Porthos replied, before Athos cleared his throat to begin their introductions.

'I am Athos, that one over there is Aramis...' he motioned to the man in question, who waved. 'This is Porthos,' he added, before looking over to their youngest team member. 'And that is d'Artagnan.'

'd'Artagnan?' Deborah turned to him once more, eyes wide. 'What a _lovely_ name.'

'Thank you,' d'Artagnan nodded, grabbing hold of his wine glass so she couldn't hold his arm again. 'My mother gave it to me.'

'So funny, too...'

'We work for the Metropolitan Police, in the serious crimes division.' Athos added, trying not to smile as Deborah batted her eyelashes at their youngest team member.

'Detectives?' Richard asked, voice high with interest. 'Surely that puts you at an unfair advantage at the mystery dinner tomorrow.'

'Did you bring your handcuffs with you?' Deborah asked, her smile widening as d'Artagnan now visibly blushed.

'Dear God woman- you would never have guessed she's got a husband at home, would you?' Stan chuckled, rolling his eyes- Aramis laughed as he caught Athos' eye.

'Don't worry, I understand the frustration entirely.' Athos replied, taking a gulp of his own wine.

'I'm only joking with you, lovie- no need to look so scared,' Deborah grinned, sitting back in her chair as d'Artagnan began to relax. 'I don't bite- much.'

Soon afterwards, the doors opened and two trays were wheeled in, signalling the start of the meal.

* * *

'I can't wait until tomorrow,' Aramis chuckled as they made their way to their room some hours later, filled with good food and an abundance of wine. 'I wonder if they're any good at paintballing.'

'That Stan guy looked like he'd be pretty handy with a gun...' Porthos said with a snort as he pushed open his and d'Artagnan's bedroom door. 'Actually, they all scare me, to be honest!'

'I'd be more worried about getting the kiss of life from Deborah, eh?' Athos chuckled, pushing d'Artagnan's shoulder lightly. 'I think you're in there, my friend!'

'You'll have to give poor old Constance the boot now!' Aramis added, enjoying how the youngest member of the team squirmed with embarrassment.

'She tried to slip me her spare door key as we were leaving...' he muttered, a flush still on his cheeks as the others laughed.

'We better turn in, I guess- got a big day tomorrow!' Porthos said, switching on the lights as the others filed into the room. He turned to see Aramis studying the character card he and everyone else had been given as they left the dining hall.

'So, who are you playing?' he asked, getting out his own card as he kicked off his shoes and sat down on his bed.

'That would be telling, wouldn't it?' Aramis grinned, stowing his card back in his pocket. 'Apparently we also have to dress the part as well- Jan was saying a professional company is coming tomorrow, with a full wardrobe and everything. Actors, too.'

'Wow...' d'Artagnan whistled under his breath. 'Didn't think it would be this well done.'

'I know, exciting, isn't it?' Aramis said with a grin, before he looked over to Athos, who had sighed beside him. 'Not if you're Mr Boring, of course,' he added, shaking his head. 'Come on- lets go to bed.' he chuckled, prodding Athos in the shoulder as they turned, switching Porthos and d'Artagnan's light off with a laugh before he quickly shut the door behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis opened one bleary, bloodshot eye as the sunlight began to filter through the thin curtains of their room; he twisted his arm from where he was holding his pillow to peer at his watch. 7.30am. Yawning quietly, he sat up and wiped a hand down his face, knocking off a couple of empty miniature bottles of wine from his duvet and onto the floor with a clink as he did so.

Smiling to himself, he looked across to his room mate who had instigated the illicit drinking session; Athos was buried somewhere deep in his own duvet, snoring heavily against his pillow, an arm flailing loosely down to the floor.

'A-thos?' Aramis cleared his throat as he let out only a slightly-comprehensible growl. He needed some water, his dry throat screamed out at him. 'Athos, wake up!'

'Ngggnn...'

'Come on, time to get up!' Aramis swung his legs out from his bed and stretched as he moved across to the window. A low morning mist was flowing slowly over the crops and flower meadows, making the scene almost look like an oil painting that someone had spilt water over.

'Too early...'

Aramis turned, chuckling, as he saw Athos sitting up with rather impressive bed-hair, a frown on his face as he gave him a look that clearly told him he didn't appreciate being woken up.

'No, its just the right time- don't forget the paintball today!' He nodded, before grabbing his wash-bag and heading for the door. Swallowing, he winced at his dry throat, at the acrid, slightly vinegary taste on his tongue. 'Did we drink all that wine you brought last night?'

'Probably.' Athos replied, pulling a tired hand down his face. He really needed a shave. And a coffee.

'God, and I usually _hate_ red wine...'

'Well you seemed to drink an awful lot of something you hate!'

'Well, if you had brought a _selection_ , maybe I could-'

'Oh shut up and go and have a shower-don't use up all the hot water either, some of us need a shower too!'

'Aye Aye, Sir!' Aramis replied with a salute, snorting as Athos did no more than shoot him another glare before flopping back down on his bed, pulling the duvet back over himself as he did so.

* * *

'I wonder where your girlfriend is this morning?'

'She's _not_ my girlfriend...' d'Artagnan replied, shooting Aramis a glare as they walked downstairs and into the dining room an hour later, all freshly washed and dressed for the day's activities.

As they had waited for Athos to finally get up, washed, shaved and dressed, Porthos' stomach had grumbled so loudly Aramis was sure it could be heard on the floor below them- moving through the oddly quiet house, Aramis mused what this day would bring.

'If you say so- ooh, croissants!' Aramis grinned, heading over to the buffet table that had been set out in the dining room, leaving the other three in his wake, watching as he piled his plate high with buns, fruit and pastries.

'You're going to be sick when we play in a bit...' Porthos muttered as he joined him with his own plate. 'Or give yourself cramp.'

'Nah, got the stomach of a lion, my friend.' Aramis chuckled, popping a blueberry in his mouth so he could pour out a coffee.

Aramis looked up quizzically as Porthos suddenly stopped and peered intently at both him and Athos, who was in the middle of picking an apple from the fruitbowl.

'Why are both your eyes so bloodshot?' Porthos asked, eyebrow arched. 'And why do neither of you look like you got much sleep last night?'

'I don't know what you mean,' Aramis tried not to smile as comprehension seemed to dawn on the other man's face.

'Did you two drink all that wine last night!?'

'Us?' Athos asked, spooning yoghurt into a bowl.

'Never! Well, maybe a few teeny tiny bottles...' Aramis grinned.

'What!? And you didn't share any with us!' Porthos looked appalled at the notion, as did d'Artagnan, who stood with one hand clutching his plate and the other perched on his hip, mouth agape with feigned surprise.

'Don't tell them about the giant chocolate stash me and you ate last night, Porthos!' he called loudly as he turned to pick up a crumpet, grinning to himself as Aramis let out what could only be described as a squeak of incredulity at his words.

'Chocolate? Not Dairy Milk?!'

'Yep, and Curly Wurlys, and Maltesers- all your favourites!' Porthos chuckled, shrugging at the other men as they looked on, stunned. 'You have your fun, and we'll have ours!' he added, before shoving a grape into Aramis' open mouth and walking away with a chuckle, followed closely by d'Artagnan, who grinned as he patted Athos on the shoulder.

They sat down at a small table near the window; the table they had all sat at last night was currently being used as a sort of walk-in wardrobe slash prop area for the murder mystery dinner later that evening.

'I wonder where the librarians are, though...' Porthos wondered aloud as he cut into his egg.

'Probably on a hike or something else relatively team-building-ey...' Athos replied, sipping on his coffee.

'We could go for a walk before paintball?' d'Artagnan muttered, shovelling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

'I'd rather stick pins in my eyes- can't abide walking as a hobby...' Aramis grumbled, sitting back from his already empty plate.

'Huh, I thought you'd be one of those die-hard trekkers, with those sticks and everything!' The younger man grinned, chuckling as Aramis fervently shook his head, a grimace on his face. 'Its just so boring! If there were, say, bears roaming free, that would make it more interesting!'

'Yeah, cos we all love running away from bears, don't we?' Athos scoffed, shaking his head as Aramis chuckled.

'What time does the paintball start?' Porthos asked a few minutes later as they stood up, pushing their chairs in before they made their way out of the French doors and outside into the garden. The garden itself was quite large, leading out the back for a good couple of acres before it hit forest; to the left was a custom-made paintball area, whilst the right was occupied with tables and chairs, alongside a built in barbecue.

'Ten o'clock I think...' Athos said, breathing in the cool summer air. He smelt the heavy scent of hay on the breeze, making his nose twitch.

They all turned round as they heard voices from behind them. 'Morning, lads!' Richard called, an arm out in greeting. Stan, Mo and Debs followed, their walking boots caked in mud as they crossed the garden to reach them.

'Morning handsome...' Debs purred to d'Artagnan, who gave her a small smile before slowly moving to Athos' other side, trying to ignore the snort his mentor tried-and failed- to withhold as he did so.

'Just got up?' Stan asked, looking them up and down.

'No, just had a lovely breakfast.' Porthos replied in a somewhat defensive tone as Stan stood back, his face ruddy and shiny with sweat. 'Been up ages.'

'Ready to do battle?' Mo cut across them, her voice heavy with challenge as she mimed finger-guns, shooting Athos with a chuckle. 'I've been told I'm a good shot!'

'More than ready, Mo!' Aramis assured her, smiling over at the librarians as they waved their goodbyes before they headed to their rooms to get ready.

'We better not lose to a group of OAP librarians!' Aramis said, face turning serious as he looked round at the other three. 'We'll never hear the end of it!'

'Relax,' d'Artagnan chuckled, placing a hand on Aramis' shoulder. 'We have age and agility on our side- what could possibly go wrong?'

* * *

They found out what could possibly go wrong about two minutes after Jan blew her whistle starting the first round an hour later- Aramis was very forcefully reminded of the last act of the film _Hot Fuzz_ as they watched the Librarians, their faces daubed with green and black camouflage paint they had seemed to have brought especially for the occasion, spring into action- Mo and Stan darted for the undergrowth to the left, whilst Debs and Richard sprang to the right towards a large steel shed, each one of them firing wildly from their guns as they did so.

Aramis threw himself to the bushes as bangs and crashes erupted around them, a very familiar feeling of adrenaline already coursing through his veins as his breath fogged up his mask. He watched as Porthos ducked a ball; as it hit the tree behind him it exploded, showering the man with orange paint as he moved position, shooting back with a grunt.

He didn't know what they fed the people in Winstable, but it seemed to have made these inhabitants almost warrior-like; he laughed as d'Artagnan threw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a paintball which Debs let loose with an almost-primal scream.

Blue paint burst around him, but thankfully he was not hit, allowing him to crawl away on his stomach, before kneeling and returning the favour- grinning, he watched as two of his paint balls met their mark, peppering Debs' overalls with yellow paint and sending her to the pen for defeated players.

'Now you've hurt her feelings!' Athos laughed, from a little way to his left, his voice muffled behind his mask.

'Well, she shouldn't have tried to shoot me!' d'Artagnan called back, shrugging, before ducking down as he saw Stan stand up from his hiding spot, brandishing his gun.

'To your left, to your left!' Aramis shouted, before coming from behind the tree to let off a double-tap; a garbled yell of defeat from Stan let him know he had hit his target.

'Get in, Aramis!' Porthos yelled, before he too stepped back a pace with a disgruntled groan; turning back to the others they sighed as they saw his chest spattered with red paint.

'To the pen with you!' Aramis grinned, shaking his head. Turning to Athos and d'Artagnan, he urged them to come closer. 'I think we should just go in hard, centre left, and take them by surprise...' he said, voice low. 'They won't be expecting that!'

'Steady on, we're not in a war!' d'Artagnan laughed, shaking his head.

'Once a soldier, always a soldier!' Aramis replied, hand curling around the trigger of his gun. 'Athos, you flank to the left, d'Artagnan, you're with me...'

'Aye Aye, Captain...' Athos muttered sarcastically, before he slowly made his way to the left, keeping low, while the other two continued on forwards, ducking behind trees as they went.

Seconds later and a cacophony of bangs and taps exploded around them; Aramis grinned as he ducked a ball, feeling the green paint splattering on his lower jaw as it hit the tree he was hiding behind. 'Over there, d'Artagnan!' he instructed, pointing to where he could clearly see Mo hiding in the bushes, cackling as she let off another volley.

'Jesus Christ...' d'Artagnan muttered ruefully as he crawled in a trench between where he was and where Mo was crouched, now shooting wildly into the bushes, paint splattering everywhere. _This woman could give Rambo a run for his money..._

Suddenly, he spotted Richard from just ahead of him, his eyes steely from behind his mask- carefully calculating the odds, he let out a measured breath before he stood and made a sudden run down the centre of the playing area, gun-arm outstretched...where he promptly fell into a rivet that had been dug deep in the ground, sending him crashing to the forest floor with a yell of pain, clutching his ankle.

Lying haphazardly on the muddy ground, he pulled off his mask and sighed to himself as he heard Aramis call his name out in surprise, before he heard a whistle being blown somewhere behind him, heralding the end of the game. 'Nearly got him...' he muttered lightly as he saw both Athos and Aramis peer down at him, concern on their faces. 'Is it broken?' he said, nodding down at his leg.

'I should think not, otherwise you'd be crying blue murder!' Richard's voice boomed from somewhere overhead, making him jump slightly. 'Most probably a sprain, my boy, nothing more.'

'I'll get your boot off and then I'll have a look,' Aramis said, kneeling on his haunches as he helped d'Artagnan sit up. Richard bent down too, wiping mud from his trousers as he watched Aramis gently take off the younger man's boot to reveal a rapidly-swelling left ankle. 'There, see, a sprain, no doubt...' he said, nodding astutely. Catching Aramis' expression he seemed to puff himself up. 'I was an orthopaedic surgeon for twenty years before joining the library service, I know a sprain when I see one!'

'I see...' Aramis said, shaking his head with a smile as Richard moved off, muttering something about cold compresses as he went. 'Thank you for your diagnosis!' he called back under his breath, winking at d'Artagnan as he chuckled. 'I think he's right though- its swelling up like a balloon!' he said, before patting the younger man on the back as he started to wince as the pain began to really hit him.

'See, told you that you'd need my massive first aid kit before this weekend was out!' he chided, laughing as d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

'Come on, lets go and find an ice-pack...' Athos said, offering his hand out to the younger man as he too stood up. 'I guess that's our afternoon of paint balling over and done with...'

'You three can still play!'

Aramis scoffed and nodded over to the librarians- they had all sat down on a selection of tree stumps near the shed, their masks lying forgotten on the playing area floor whilst Mo served tea out of a large gingham flask.

'I don't think their hearts were truly in it...'

'Really?' Porthos replied as he joined them, eyes creased in concern as d'Artagnan teetered a little on his feet as he finally made it upright, supported by Athos and Aramis on each side. 'I'm pretty sure Stan was shooting to kill at one point there!'

Laughing, Aramis shook his head, before steadying himself as d'Artagnan put all his weight on his and Athos' arms as he moved forwards, wincing and groaning against the pain in his ankle.

His mind flicking to this evening's activities, he reassured himself with a reasonable level of confidence that, with only a meal and a game left to play, this would be the extent of their injuries this weekend...


	4. Chapter 4

'I look like such an idiot...' d'Artagnan muttered tersely, pinching the shoulder of his jacket and looking down at it with a frown. 'Why can't I look cool like Aramis?'

'Its not the clothes doing it, lad, its the personality shining through!' Aramis grinned, smoothing back his hair as Athos let out a snort from the armchair by the wardrobe in their room.

It was now seven thirty in the evening, and everyone was getting ready for the murder mystery dinner which was due to start at 8pm. After a leisurely barbecued lunch outside in the balmy summer air, provided by Jan's boyfriend in a very ironic "kiss the chef" apron, each person was told to come into the dining hall, where they had been measured up for and given their costumes for the evening's dinner.

Porthos mused that it must have been much easier to dress the women, as he passed the wooden pipe he had been given between his hands. All they had needed was a dress...

They had been informed by the "wardrobe department" upon entering the dining room that the time period that had been chosen was the 1950s.

As none of them had been alive in the 1950s none of them really had any clue on what their characters would be dressed like, but they soon found out. Porthos had been given a rather fetching woollen maroon cardigan, mustard-coloured corduroy trousers and the aforementioned pipe, which he had been disappointed to find out was just made of wood and could not be smoked.

Athos was much more satisfied with his costume, which consisted of a very stylish, tweed-style grey three piece suit, white dress shirt and a red tie, making him look like Q from the James Bond films, which he found quite pleasing. He had been afraid he would be dressed in something very strange, like d'Artagnan- he grinned as he watched the young man hobble across to the full length mirror attached to the inner door of the wardrobe, mouth set in a grimace as he put his hands in his oversized jacket pockets.

'I look like an idiot!' he repeated, shaking his head.

'Your character is obviously a jock, so idiot isn't too far away!' Porthos chuckled, sitting on the bed. 'Maybe you're supposed to be a son called back from college in America after his father's death or something and he hasn't had time to change?'

'I look like an extra from "High School Musical!' d'Artagnan groaned, looking into the mirror at his costume- he was dressed in a replica of a high school varsity jacket in a very fetching shade of purple, with a giant, golden lettered "NYU" emblazoned across the chest and the back. It was teamed up with some flared jeans and oversized white trainers, finishing off the look. He felt even more of an idiot as his left foot was still bandaged up from his fall that morning, making his foot look almost comically-large.

'Here, want some hair gel, I've been given too much!' Aramis chuckled, shaking his head as he smoothed his hair down again. He had been given the best costume of the lot, all four of them could agree on that- tight black faux leather trousers, an equally tight white t-shirt, and enough hair gel to slick a lion's mane back for a fortnight.

'You look like Danny from Grease!' Porthos had laughed as soon as Aramis had stepped into the room from where he had changed in the bathroom, causing Aramis to break out into a impromptu performance of 'Summer Nights', including a questionable warbling of the infamous last note of the song, causing Athos to roll his eyes and d'Artagnan to burst into giggles.

'Why don't you twirl up your moustache, too,' Athos called across, shrugging. 'It'll give you an air of Poirot.'

'Ah, good idea!' Aramis nodded, scooping a little of the gel into his fingertips and, peering intently into the mirror over d'Artagnan's shoulder, gently twisted and twirled his moustache into two thin, curly lines. 'There, perfect!' he grinned.

'Are we allowed to tell each other who we are going to be playing now?' Porthos asked, picking up the card he had been studying.

'I think we are supposed to keep it all under wraps, otherwise we'll know each other's intentions and ulterior motives,' Athos said, standing up and brushing down his trousers as they made their way to the door to begin the evening.

'This is very Midsomer Murders, isn't it?' d'Artagnan chuckled, finally giving up staring at himself in the mirror and coming to stand by the door. 'I reckon this is going to be a fun night!' he muttered with a smile, before opening the door and promptly closing it again with a snap.

'What's wrong?' Athos asked, frowning as the younger man stepped back, face suddenly pale. 'What's the matter?'

'There was a man standing further down the hallway, in the shadows.' d'Artagnan said, eyes wide. 'Looked like a shadow creature.'

'Might have been Richard, he's got lost before.' Aramis smiled ruefully, reaching forwards and opening the door again before stepping from the room, followed by the others.

'Ooh, you're right!' Porthos said as they looked across to the other side of their floor and saw a large, black, shadowed figure standing near the bannister, seemingly staring across at them. 'I didn't know that this was going to be an immersive dinner!'

Athos felt Aramis tense by his side; he knew Aramis did not do well with shadowed, silent figures. Years of nightmares had seen to that.

' _No, nope...'_ he heard Aramis whisper as he shook his head; he felt him start to move backwards, back into their room. Putting a firm yet gentle hand on his lower back he stepped closer, curling his other hand onto Aramis' forearm, out of sight of the others as the other two slowly made their way to the top of the stairs, and squeezing lightly.

'It's ok, you're alright, its just an actor...' he whispered, rubbing large circles into Aramis' back as he nudged him forwards. 'Close your eyes if you want, I'll guide you.'

'Can't do this, can't-'

'You're alright, just breathe. Just breathe and walk and we'll be downstairs before you know it.' Athos assured him. 'It's just an actor, probably playing the dead man, that's all.' Athos looked up at the other two as they stopped at the top of the stairs. ' _He's alright...'_ he mouthed to Porthos, who was looking across at Aramis, concern in his eyes.

'Come on, let's go downstairs now.' Athos said quietly, moving Aramis, who had closed his eyes, gently forwards. He looked up and felt goose bumps ripple down his own arms as he saw the shadowed figure now move to the top bannister and look across and down at them as it watched them descend the wooden stairs to the next floor.

'Creepy...' d'Artagnan commented, rubbing the back of his neck as they reached the candlelit corridor that had obviously been decorated for the occasion, before Aramis took a deep breath and opened his eyes. 'Are you ok?' he asked, eyes creased in concern.

'Never better!' Aramis smiled, the colour returning to his cheeks, before he lightly hit the younger man's chest with the palm of his hand and walked down the corridor, Porthos in tow.

'He's alright, lad.' Athos nodded across at him as they started walking, too. 'Let him be- He doesn't do creepy actors.'

'Who does?!' d'Artagnan grinned, before he almost walked straight into Porthos, who had stopped and was looking down at the ground alongside Aramis.

'Oh wow, this is so cool!' He chuckled as he too looked down.

'You have a very warped idea of cool,' Porthos snorted- they each looked down at what looked like a large body covered in a white sheet, wreathed in shadow and only illuminated by the very edge of the range of the flickering orange light of the candles. Dark blood oozed from the chest area and radiated down to where it pooled to the floor, congealing in a dark puddle.

'It looks so real,' Athos muttered, shuddering slightly. 'Probably stabbed, by the looks of it.'

'Why are you looking so closely?' Who cares how he died?' d'Artagnan frowned.

'We are attending a murder mystery dinner- we need all the clues we can get, remember?' Athos said, rolling his eyes. 'It might be important to the game.'

'Oh yeah. Good idea.'

'Come on,' Aramis muttered, looking up and down the corridor. 'Don't want to be late.'

The four of them continued walking, thankfully unmolested by any other creepers or dead bodies, and they felt a certain amount of relief as they walked into the well-lit main house, near the check in desk, where they found a very flustered looking Jan.

'Evening, gentleman!' she said, plastering on a professional smile as she approached them. 'You haven't seen my boyfriend about anywhere, have you?' She wiped her hair from her eyes, and Athos could see a light sheen of sweat on her brow. 'He's supposed to be helping.'

'No, we haven't, but if we do we will send him your way,' he nodded to her, to which she smiled gratefully.

'Probably in the shed- he's built his own bar in there. I'll kill him if he is...'

'I don't doubt it!' Aramis grinned, before they all turned as they heard movement near the dining area. The librarians had come downstairs- Mo was dressed in a blue dress with white polka dots, her long white hair plaited into one long line down her back. Debs was dressed in a halter-neck dress decorated in leopard print, a gold chain around her neck that tinkled as she moved.

Richard was dressed in black evening-wear, with a monocle haphazardly placed on his eye and a large silver fob-watch swinging from his pocket, whilst Stan was dressed in vicar's attire, completed with the traditional dog-collar, which he picked at self-consciously as he walked.

'Don't you all look _lovely!_ ' Debs enthused as the two groups met in front of the dining hall. Her expression turned somewhat sour as she looked across at d'Artagnan and took in his costume. Before she could say anything, however, they were called into the room.

'I think I'm starting to like this outfit, you know...' d'Artagnan whispered, causing Porthos to burst out laughing, which he quickly had to turn into a coughing fit as Debs turned to him, a quizzical look on her face.

'Come in, come and sit down...' A man in a top hat called over to them, ushering them to the large table that was now in the middle of the room, illuminated by the white light provided by three large candelabras at the top, bottom and middle of the table. 'Sit where you please- don't forget to take a glass of something fizzy on your way to your seats!'

Aramis grinned as he accepted a tall glass of champagne from one of a dozen or so impeccably dressed actors taking on roles of waiters and waitresses, before sitting between Athos and Porthos, whilst the librarians occupied the seats opposite them. 'Good evening, all!' the man in the top had greeted them, a wide smile on his face.

'My name is Reginald Pennyworth, but you can call me Reggie,' he said dramatically, looking from one person to another as they settled into their seats.

'Tonight I am very excited to bring to you a totally immersive murder mystery adventure, which as you all know is titled "The Reading of the Will,"- you all would have been given cards detailing your characters and any motivations; please keep them secret, they are for your eyes only until the game begins!'

Athos withheld a sigh as the dramatics continued- he was never one for live performance art, or for people who sadly were not very good at it, but who thought they were. He looked up, however, as Reggie suddenly turned and grasped a large metal box from a smaller side table.

'Now, for some housekeeping- as we have now been transported back to the era of the 1950s, you will have no need of your mobile phones; they provide distractions and methods of cheating, so-' he tapped the box, which Athos could now see was a safe. '-If you would please place your mobile phones into the box, I will ensure they are safely returned at the end of the evening.'

'Is this necessary?' Porthos asked as he hooked his phone from his pocket. 'What if there's an emergency?'

'Then I will either open the box, or you can use the land-line at reception, of course!' Reggie laughed, sighing with pantomimic mirth; Porthos tried very hard not to roll his eyes as he dropped his phone in the safe, followed by Aramis, d'Artagnan and, with great reluctance, Athos.

'Darling,' Debs' voice was high with humour as Reggie came to collect her phone. 'I am nearly seventy years old. I have no use whatsoever for the youth's cellular devices.'

'I see...does anyone have a phone in this group?'

'Here-' Stan called, waving what d'Artagnan had first thought was a brick, before he saw the thick antenna poking out the top. Dropping the last phone into the safe with a dull, echoing clang, Reggie then turned dramatically to the group at large and slammed the lid shut, before twisting the dial to lock it.

'And now, if you are all ready and sitting comfortably...' Reggie whispered, looking to each person in turn.

'...We will begin.'


	5. Chapter 5

We are gathered here today to hear the Last Will and Testament of Lord William Livingstone, who has sadly passed away at the untimely and all-too-young age of sixty five in mysterious circumstances ...' Reggie began, his voice sombre as he took a seat at the head of the table.

The room was quiet as Reggie reached down and placed a large briefcase onto the table, before unclicking each lock dramatically. 'I, Reginald Pennyworth, served as the Lord's butler for many years before his death, therefore it came as no surprise that he had elected me as executor of his Will,' he looked across the table, and at the interested faces peering back at him.

The evening was now pressing in- they had been promised a three course meal, and were just finishing the canapés that had been brought by the waiters before they seemed to melt into the corners of the room. The world outside was dark, and they could all hear the gentle pattering of rain against the glass windows.

'Probate has been completed, and now I have called you all here as you have been named as beneficiaries to his estate and possessions.'

Opening the lid of the briefcase, Reggie pulled out a thick wad of official looking papers; ruffling them between his fingers he set them down on the table before placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers.

'I do not believe you are all acquainted, for I know my letters were addressed to some quite far-off destinations when I summoned you all here. I therefore suggest that we should all go around the table now and introduce ourselves...' Reggie sat back, before looking across to Porthos, who swallowed nervously. They had all been told to memorise the back stories of their characters, but he never was much good at acting.

'My name is Paul, I am Lord Livingstone's secretary,' he said, clearing his throat to be heard. 'I was away visiting my mother when the Lord passed on.'

'Thank you Paul, thank you for coming,' Reggie smiled, before looking to Aramis.

'I am Jeremy, and I am the boyfriend of the Lord's eldest daughter,' he said in a deeper voice than usual, looking sullenly across the room; Athos had to hand it to him, he did know how to behave in character. 'Don't know why I am here really, surely his daughter should be here?' He said tersely, sitting back in his chair with a frown.

'All in good time, Jeremy...' Reggie assured him, before turning to Athos. Before Athos could take in a breath to speak, the door to the dining room opened and Jan came in, looking apologetic as light poured into the room.

'I am so sorry to interrupt, I truly am...' She said, face pale and shiny with sweat once more. 'I wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't important...'

'What's wrong?' Aramis frowned across at her as she looked hurriedly around the room. 'Jan?'

'I can't find the keys to the gun room...' she said eventually, voice low.

'Gun room?' Debs echoed as she barked out a laugh. 'What is this, the wild west?'

'No, the countryside!' Aramis shot back, before turning back to Jan as she sighed anxiously. 'Relax, we'll find them; perhaps your boyfriend has them?'

'I don't think so, but I still can't find him to ask...'

'Alright, what about-'

'Are these them?' Everyone turned as a waiter, a young man with brown hair, aged no more than twenty-five, stepped forwards, a bunch of keys in his hands.

'Yes...' Jan said as she accepted them back. 'Where did you...?'

'They were on the sideboard,' the man said, pointing. Porthos saw he had one blue eye and one brown eye, a curious trait. 'They looked like outdoor keys, so I figured they'd be something important.'

'Yes,' Jan nodded, watching as the man smiled nervously and stepped back into character, picking up a tray of glasses. 'Well, thank you!' she turned to the room, bowing slightly. 'Sorry to interrupt',' she said again, before walking away, shutting the dining room door with a bang.

'Right...' Reggie muttered after a few seconds. 'Now, where were we? Ah yes-' he looked back across to Athos, who cleared his throat.

'My name is Sir Henry Stone. I am a regular at the Lord's chess club and his personal confidante. We had a light supper and sherry the night before he passed.'

'Thank you for being here, Sir Henry,' Reggie said, before now looking to d'Artagnan, who looked back at him with wide eyes.

'I- I'm Pete. The Lord's youngest son. I was in New York, studying, when I received the news of my father's death. Came as soon as I heard...'

'I'm glad you made it,' Reggie nodded to him, before turning now to the other side of the table, to the librarians.

Stan cleared his throat. 'Well obviously I'm a vicar.' he said, before he winced as he very plainly received a kick to the shin under the table from Mo, who glared across at him. 'Sorry, sorry...' he muttered, before sitting up straighter. 'I am Reverend Joseph Smith. I look after the local parish and have come to ensure proceedings go smoothly, for I was a close friend of the late Lord.'

'Thank you, Reverend,' Reggie said, before turning to Mo, who had already opened her mouth to speak.

'My name is Petunia Livingstone. I am William's wife of twenty five years, and I am devastated by his loss.' She said, voice tapering off slightly in a sad tone.

'I can't imagine your pain, Petunia.' Reggie nodded sadly across to her, before looking to Debs, who was trying to withhold a smile.

'I am Scarlett Woodhouse, of the acting dynasty of the same name, of course- the dearly departed Lord and I were, well...' She looked waspishly across to Mo. 'We were _in flagrante delicto_ , as it were...'

'Eh?' d'Artagnan whispered to Athos, who snorted as he watched Mo puff herself up, acting outraged.

'Having it off with one another. Cheating.'

'Ohh...' d'Artagnan looked back, eyes wide. 'Shit...'

'You were sleeping with my husband!?' Mo's voice was high with a scandalized tone.

'One of many men, my darling, but yes, your husband and I-'

'Stop, I don't wish to hear any more, you harlot!'

'Ladies, ladies please!' Reggie clapped his hands at the two warring women as Mo crossed her arms, staring resolutely ahead, and Debs did no more than drink her champagne in one gulp, before looking around for a waiter, clearly immersed in the game.

'And finally, we have...?' Reggie looked over to Richard, who was sat quietly at the end of the line, keeping to himself.

'Can't we just get this over with, and hear the Will?' He said, voice gruff.

'I'm sorry Sir, but in the interests of everyone here, it is only fair that you introduce yourself. First name would suffice.'

Richard sighed deeply, a frown on his face as he sat back. 'All right then...Ernie,' he threw out the name like a piece of rubbish, immediately enveloping the table in a new, tenser atmosphere.

'And how do you know my husband?' Mo said, voice slightly shrill as she got more into character.

'Does it matter?'

'Course it does!' d'Artagnan surprised even himself by answering in a brash tone. 'My father wouldn't put a nobody in his Will.'

'I am not a nobody, I can assure you, I-'

'Well speak plainly, for some of us have better things to be doing tonight!' Aramis called across the table, voice dark.

'Oh yes,' Deb's hissed from the other side of the table, cheeks slightly flushed already. 'I'm sure pretty little Elizabeth is upstairs somewhere, waiting for her boyfriend to come back and tell her what treasures her dead daddy left her!'

'Her name is Anne, actually.' Aramis wrong-footed her, trying not to smirk. 'And no, she's not here, otherwise she'd be at this table, surely?'

'Well, I-'

'Hang on, we don't even know who he is, yet!' Porthos pointed to Richard, who got into character again as everyone turned back to him. 'Who are you?'

'My name is not important.'

'I think we should adjourn this meeting until we find out how to scrub this intruder's name from the Will.' Mo said, eyes glassy. 'He's obviously a fraud!'

'I am no fraud- I have as much, if not more, right to be here than any of you!' Richard sat forwards, eyes narrowed.

'Then who are you?' Athos muttered, voice direct.

'My name...' Richard sighed dramatically. 'My name is Terence.'

'Terence...' d'Artagnan racked his brains at the mention of that name. He had read that name somewhere... 'My father mentioned a Terence, when I was younger, I'm sure of it...' he looked across at Mo, hoping she also had had something written on her character card.

'Do you remember, Mother?'

'I...' Mo swallowed, a hand reaching for the pendant she now wore around her neck. 'William- your father- he...he mentioned a brother called Terence, but...' everyone looked across at Richard as Mo took in a shuddering breath and peered fearfully to face the other man. '...but he told me he'd died when he was a child...'

Suddenly they all looked round as Stan abruptly gasped, clutching at his chest, face pale and taut with pain.

'Stan?' Richard called, voice hitched in concern as he stood up, as did Aramis. 'Are you alright, or is this part of your act?'

'I don't think 'flail about like a madman' would be on a character card, do you?' Debs shot back, putting a hand on Stan's shoulder as he gasped for breath.

'I..my heart...I...' Stan garbled out, breathing erratically as he pushed his chair back, pulling the dog-collar frantically from his collar as he did so to let in more air.

Suddenly, without warning, all the lights in the house went out, enveloping them all in darkness and silence, save for the scant candlelight and Stan's laboured breathing...


	6. Chapter 6

The librarians started chattering and bustling around in fright almost immediately- Porthos put out a hand to steady Mo as she pushed her chair out with a gasp, and, in her haste to reach Stan, almost tripped and fell to the floor. Richard and Aramis both darted round the others and quickly came to Stan's side- the man in question had now stood up clutching his chest, his face pale and eyes bulging in panic even in the low candlelight.

'Stan?' Deb's voice was high with concern as she barged in front of Aramis and grasped Stan's hand. 'What's wrong?'

'I suspect he's having a heart attack, will you just let me-' Aramis started, but with a scoff Deb's cut him off.

'A heart attack? He's not that old!'

'You can have a heart attack at any-'

'Will everyone just _be quiet_ for a second!' Athos said loudly, rendering everyone silent as he reached for one of the candelabras at the table. 'We need to remain calm for Stan- Aramis, please...' he nodded, giving Deb's a look that even she dared not retort to. Stepping backwards, she and Mo clasped each other with shaking hands as Aramis knelt down next to Stan and looked up at him kindly as he helped in sit back down.

'How are you feeling?'

'Pain in my chest...' Stan gulped, breathing hard, eyes occasionally closing as he battled a throb of pain. 'Going down my arm too...'

'Alright, it does sound like a heart attack...' Aramis had been on a few first aid courses in his time, and this ticked all the boxes. He put a hand on Stan's shoulder and squeezed lightly. 'We need to call an ambulance- Reggie?' they all looked round at the darkened room, at the wide eyes of the actors who were all huddled together.

'He's had Angina for years...' Mo said into the silence, voice quiet.

'Feels different this time...' Stan breathed, voice hitched.

'Stable or unstable?' Athos called across the table to him, eyes almost translucent in the scant light.

'Unstable.' Mo answered for him.

'Alright- do you carry medication? My uncle suffered with Angina – he carried Minitran with him; do you have any?'

'Yes, a spray...' Stan nodded, face shiny with sweat as his face creased in pain once more. 'In my room.'

'We need that spray- Porthos, d'Artagnan?' Athos said, looking over to the two men, who nodded and made their way to the door.

'We need these damn lights back on, is what we need!' Richard barked, voice brash.

'Don't these country homes have back-up generators?' Porthos pondered aloud as they walked, looking to the others. 'In case of storms and things like that?'

'Usually, yes,' Athos nodded, also looking around. 'Reggie?' he called again, cursing under his breath as everyone looked round- he was the only one that knew the code to open the safe containing the mobile phones...

'Here-' d'Artagnan's voice almost echoed in the silence of the room. '-I've found a torch in the cupboard over there..'

'Ah, perfect- we can look Stan over properly now...' Aramis said, smiling comfortingly at the man in question, who was looking very pale.

Athos turned the torch on, its powerful beam illuminating the scene fully- Debs suddenly screamed loudly, clutching Aramis' shoulder tightly for support as the beam illuminated the end of the table, where Reggie was sprawled, face down, arms splayed across the tabletop. Aramis, after carefully extracting himself from Deb's pincer-grasp and letting her latch onto Stan, carefully made his way to Reggie.

He could see by the slowly increasing pool of blood coming from his neck that there was no helping him. 'He's dead.' he said, somewhat redundantly- anyone with eyes could see that was the case.

'Jesus Christ...' Richard swore into the silence.

'Porthos- the medication,' Athos said loudly, interuppting everyone's thoughts- Porthos caught the tossed room keys from Richard, before nodding over to d'Artagnan, who followed him into the darkness.

'Be careful, lads.' Aramis called. 'Don't be too long- whoever killed Reggie is probably still here.'

'We need to get out here!' Deb's cried, eyes wide in panic. 'We can't stay here, there's a bloody murderer on the loose!'

'There's an almighty storm raging outside, no electricity at all and Stan is having a heart attack- I would rather we stayed all in one room until we know what's what before we all go running around like we're in some stupid locked-room mystery novel!' Athos growled, swinging the torch round, the beam illuminating the scared faces of all the actors and actresses dotted around the room.

'Right, everyone over here, in one big group- then we can keep an eye on everyone.' Athos instructed, watching as the actors filed into one side of the table.

'That's it-' Mo whispered, voice unnaturally high. 'What if this is all part of the game?'

Aramis sighed and looked back down to Reggie, at the now pallid patch of skin he could see above his shirt collar, at the rapidly congealing blood on the table. 'I don't think so.' he replied sadly, reaching to Reggie's neck to feel a pulse. 'Nothing.' he reported, before a dark thought crept into his mind.

With a wide eyed look at Athos, he turned and marched out the door, up the small flight of stairs and towards the sheet-covered body that they had seen as they came down for the dinner; tearing the sheet back Aramis put a hand to his mouth as the body of Jan's boyfriend was unveiled, a penetrating stab wound to his chest, just as Athos had surmised earlier.

'Aramis?' Athos' voice boomed after a minute or two, making Aramis jump slightly.

Standing up, he placed the sheet back over the body before he walked quickly back into the dining room, eyes roving the now pitch-black corridors and hallways as he did so.

'Where did you go?' Athos' voice was questioning.

'I think we have to get out of here- ' Aramis jumped again as he felt someone come up behind him.

'Got the medication!' Porthos called; Aramis cursed under his breath as he tried to quell his racing heart.

'Perfect-' Athos took the spray bottle and knelt down beside Stan, who was now shaking with pain and cold, as the heating had now been off for a while now. 'Right, here you go...' he said, waiting for Stan to open his mouth before spraying some of the medication under his tongue.

'Right, now we wait five minutes,' Athos said, standing back up- he looked quizzically across to Aramis as the other man pulled him to one side, face set.

'That body under the sheet we saw was real.' he said urgently, voice low. 'It was Jan's boyfriend.'

'Where is she?' Athos whispered, looking around.

'Probably looking for her boyfriend...' Aramis said, before they all looked up as Stan gasped out in pain.

'Not worked, Stan?' Athos asked, keeping his voice as light and as calm as he could make it, before looking over to the other three. 'We need to find Jan, and get Stan to hospital.'

'Agreed- Porthos, you and d'Artagnan are with me.' Aramis looked over to Athos, who nodded- they all knew what to do now their police training started kicking in.

Turning back to Stan, Athos squatted down and sprayed another dose under Stan's tongue- 'if this dose, or the last dose after this, doesn't work, it's probably not Angina, Stan, it is a heart attack,' he said quietly, although he prayed it would work. 'Steady, just keep breathing...' he said, hoping the others weren't too long...

* * *

'Jan?' Aramis called, voice as loud as he could make it without drawing attention from a crazed murderer- they walked through the darkened corridors, eyes peeled for any sign or movement up ahead of them.

'You're gonna burn your eyebrows off in a second, give it here!' Porthos muttered under his breath, snatching the large candelabra d'Artagnan had taken from the table from the indignant man and walking a step ahead, the candelabra held aloft above their heads.

'Jan?' Aramis called again, worry piquing in his chest as they moved up the stairs now. 'Do we know if she even lives in this part of the house? She could have separate quarters.'

'I have no idea- let's search the whole area and then we can be sure?' d'Artagnan shrugged, before following Aramis as they continued walking through the blackened hallways, now illuminated by only scant yellow light.

Reaching the second floor, Aramis couldn't see any indication that anyone was up here; trying each door, he could see each was locked. 'Come on, let's quickly check our floor and we can search the other side of the house,' he muttered, before they quickly walked up the stairs to their floor- Porthos flung out a hand as soon as he reached the top of the stairs.

'Wha-?' Aramis was about to ask why they had stopped, but Porthos was already lowering the candelabra in answer- the flickering light fell onto a large cloaked figure lying innate on the landing, completing covered in a black sheet.

'The shadow man from before...' d'Artagnan breathed, watching as Aramis knelt and, praying to all that was holy that he wasn't about to uncover Jan's body, grasped the sheet and pulled, unveiling a young man with blond hair, wearing a polo shirt and jeans.

'Who is he?' Porthos asked- Aramis gently turned the man to face him; he could plainly see the blood smeared across his neck, pooling down into the carpeted landing. The logo on the polo shirt stated "Rifkin Entertainments."

'Rifkin?' d'Artagnan muttered as Aramis stood up again, breathing out deeply. 'That's the name of the company doing this dinner, isn't it?'

'Yes-' Aramis replied, mind whirring. 'Why would someone kill an actor?'

'What if the person killed him to take his place?' Porthos said, voice dark. 'To get into the mystery dinner?'

'Why would anyone want to do that?' Aramis muttered, frowning.

'But that means...' d'Artagnan started, but they had all had the same thought simultaneously.

' _Athos...'_ Aramis breathed, before all three of them turned and ran back down the stairs.

'Porthos, go and get the car!' Aramis instructed as they reached the main area, near the check-in desk, feeling a jolt of panic as Porthos ran off into the darkness and out into the storm.

'Right, we just need to-' both his and d'Artagnan's eyes swivelled to the small cupboard behind the check in desk as they both heard rummaging and clattering from the inside.

Aramis crept slowly forwards, a warning hand out for d'Artagnan, who fell back, prepared to move forwards if necessary. Feeling suddenly absurdly naked without a weapon, Aramis settled for grasping a huge paperweight in the shape of a cow that he saw on the desk- raising it high above his head he moved forwards, eyes narrowed as the noise got louder until...Jan stepped from the cupboard, brushing hair from her sweaty brow. Her eyes widened as Aramis quickly dropped his hand, hiding the paperweight behind him as she brushed herself down.

'Jan, we-'

'I'm so sorry about the lights, the storm must've knocked them out, but I can't get the fusebox to work- Jamie is normally so good but I _still_ can't find him..'

'Jan, listen to me, we need to get out of here...' Aramis said, putting a gentle hand on her forearm. 'People have been killed, and one of the librarians is having a heart attack- we need to get out of here.'

'Oh my god...' Jan's hand flew to her mouth. 'My boyfriend, I need to find him, I-'

'Jan,' Aramis lowered his voice kindly, they needed to hurry but Jan needed to know. 'Jan, I'm so sorry but-' all three of them looked up as Porthos came back through the front door, soaking wet and with a thunderous expression on his face. 'All the tires have been slashed on all the cars out there!' he growled, face angry.

'All of them?'

'Even the damn tractor!' Porthos retorted, shaking his head.

'How far are we to the nearest hospital?' Aramis turned to Jan, voice urgent.

'About twenty miles, we're in the middle of the country...' Jan stepped back a pace as Aramis threw out a frustrated curse, eyes dark.

'Did you say it was just a problem with the fusebox?' he said, voice hopeful, as he stepped nearer to the cupboard Jan had just come out of.

'Nah, they've cut the power outside,' Porthos replied, voice dark. ' Powerlines all over the place.'

Cursing, Aramis shook his head angrily before plastering on a calm façade as Jan looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with confused tears.

'We have to go back in the dining room, Athos could be in trouble...' d'Artagnan muttered- nodding, they all made their way to the dining area- before they could step inside, Aramis froze as he felt the cool steel of a gun barrel press hard into the back of his head, causing the others to stop too.

'Where do you think you're going?' a low, coarse voice spoke into the sudden silence.


	7. Chapter 7

_Ten minutes earlier..._

Athos knelt to Stan's level, concern filling his chest as he watched the older man gasp for each breath, a pained expression crossing his face again and again.

'One more spray left,' he said, shaking the container as Stan opened his mouth again.

'We need to get him out of here,' Debs said as Athos administered the spray under Stan's tongue, her voice pitched with worry. 'To a proper hospital!'

Athos stood, face stoic as he surveyed the room, at the actors and actresses standing terrified by the fireplace, at the librarians huddled together, faces pale.

Someone here was a killer, he knew.

He wondered what was taking the others so long-he looked idly up at the darkened ceiling, hoping they had managed to find Jan.

'Didn't you hear me?' Debs now clasped his forearm, face set in a pinched expression.

'I heard you,' Athos replied, removing her hand from his arm, giving her hand a small squeeze. 'We have to wait for the others.'

'I can go and get the car-' Richard began, but Athos cut across him with a short shake to the head.

'No. No one splits up- we need to stay together.'

'Oh, who could _do this?_ ' Mo breathed, eyes now on Reggie, who still lay slumped over the polished table, blood now dripping onto the carpeted floor.

'Good question.' Athos muttered, before he grabbed a candelabra and crossed the room to the side table where the entertainment team had left their bags.

Spying a large briefcase stowed on the chair, Athos surmised this would be Reggie's; placing the candelabra down he hooked the bag upwards and placed it on the table, opening it to find reams of paper stamped with "Rifkin Entertainment" logos.

'What are you looking for?' Richard's voice boomed next to his ear, making Athos swear and drop the papers with a start.

' _Don't do that!_ ' he admonished, picking up the paperwork again as Richard stepped back a pace, hands out in apology.

'Cast lists, inventories, things like that...' Athos replied as he looked back down again, eyes scanning each page in the scant light.

'Why?'

Athos fought the urge to roll his eyes as he replied 'for clues.' The irony was not lost on him.

Finally finding the cast list, Athos drew the light closer as he read down the list of names of the actors and actresses cast to play the waiting staff.

Looking up, he mentally counted eight of them huddled round the end of the table, clutching at each other and muttering.

So, eight extra people- he counted off another marked down on the page as "shadowed man"- so, the figure on their floor, then. That made nine.

'Nine altogether, eight in this room as waiters and waitresses...' he muttered, more to himself than to Richard as he put the paper down and continued his search for more indicators of what they were dealing with.

'Hmm..' He looked up as Richard made a noise behind him, voice ever so slightly hitched.

'What?' he asked, frowning.

'Nothing, it's just I count nine people standing over there, that's all...' Richard replied, shrugging. 'I was never very good at maths at school, though.'

'Wait...' Athos looked down at the cast list again. Eight waiters and waitresses- looking up he counted under his breath, checking off each figure he could see huddled together.

'Seven, eight, _nine_.' he finished, feeling something heavy drop into his chest.

'We need to remain calm.' He said under his breath as he watched one or two of the actors look across to them, their eyes wide with fear. He looked back down as if to check for more papers, motioning for Richard to do the same.

'We can't let them know we are onto them,' he said, before looking surreptitiously around. They had no means of escape, or to call for help. They were miles from the nearest town...

'I spent thirty years in the Army Reserves,' Richard muttered, voice gruff. 'You're a detective- we can take them!'

'Take who, exactly?' Athos inwardly sighed. 'We have no idea who the killer is, Richard. If we go in all gung-ho we'll get someone else killed.'

'I suppose you're right.' Richard said, shrugging as he pretended to pore over another ream of paper. 'What do you suggest? Stan needs a hospital, quickly.'

'I know, I know...' Athos said, panic starting to pique in his chest as he looked across to Stan, who was currently being fussed over by Mo and Debs.

'Why don't we put the actors in another room? Lock the door until we get help?'

'Not a bad idea...' Athos agreed, before standing up straighter and helping Richard put the papers away, stowing the bag carefully under the table again; it would need to be used as evidence at some point.

'I wonder if your men found anything?' Richard said as they stepped backwards, their eyes now getting used to the scant light.

'I hope they've found Jan by now...' Athos muttered, before everyone in the room looked across to the dining room door as they heard the door handle move, yet no one came in through the door.

'Aramis?' Athos called, frowning as the two men stepped from the table and came closer to the door. 'Porthos?'

Slowly, the door shifted open, revealing a clump of shadows in the door frame. Athos' eyes went from narrowed to wide as Porthos, d'Artagnan and Jan moved into the room- the two men's eyes were set in angry, warning expressions as they sought Athos in the scant light. Jan's eyes were wide with fear as she clung to Porthos, knuckles white as she clasped his cardigan with shaky hands.

Aramis was last through the door, his movements stiff, almost robotic. Athos was just about to speak when Aramis finally stepped into fuller light and turned, revealing a smaller man behind him, pressing a gun to Aramis' head.

'Put the gun down, sir,' Athos said, stepping closer as the room entered a state of suffocating silence as they looked at the scene. 'You can just talk to us, you don't need a gun.'

The man standing behind Aramis scoffed, shaking his head- Athos couldn't see his face as he was hiding behind Aramis, as if afraid he too would get shot if he moved. 'No, I hold the gun!' his voice was high, angry.

'Sir we can't help you if you don't-'

'I said I keep the gun!' the man yelled- Athos saw Aramis wince as the gun was jabbed harder into his skull.

'Alright, alright you keep the gun, just tell us why you are here?' Athos reasoned, hands up and palms visible as Aramis was forced into the middle of the room, his face set in an angry expression.

'I- I-' the man stumbled over his words; Athos caught the look Porthos gave him. _I could take him_ , the look clearly said. Athos gave a minute shake of the head, arching an eyebrow for just a second to negate the idea. His finger was on the trigger; any sudden movement and he would squeeze it.

'Just relax, it's alright...' Athos said, trying to remember the details from the boring, four-hour long hostage negotiation seminar they had all been sent on the previous year.

'It's alright?!' Deb's voice was high, yet devoid of humour. 'He's got a gun to his head, or are you blind?'

'Be quiet, Debs!' Richard growled, yet the new voice seemed to energise the man holding Aramis- Aramis sighed as the man straightened up and now jabbed the barrel of the gun at his temple, painfully.

'Everyone sit down! Or I shoot him right here!' he yelled, voice cracking. He sounded very young, Aramis mused; his back muscles protested as the man, who was much shorter than he was, tried to keep a firm hold of his shoulders whilst pushing the gun to the side of his head; Aramis had to lean backwards a little bit to accommodate the height difference to avoid being choked.

'I just need to know your name, first,' Athos said, voice light. 'My name is Athos-' he pointed to Aramis, 'the man you are threatening with a gun is called Aramis. He has a family, people who care about him. Why don't you let him go?'

'No, he stays!' the man shook his head, eyes wild. 'Go and stand by the table, all of you!' he said, looking over to the table. Athos watched as his eyes widened when they reached Reggie's body, yet he seemed to swallow any panic or fear that crossed his features as he pushed Aramis roughly ahead of him. 'MOVE!' he yelled as no one obeyed him- one by one everyone stepped closer to the table, eyes only on the man with the gun.

'Alright, we're all here now, just like you asked...' Athos nodded, watching carefully as the gun was pressed ever-harder to Aramis' head. 'Now, let's talk.'

'You wouldn't understand- you city folk never do!' the man scoffed, shaking his head once more.

'Try us,' Athos offered, offering the man a small smile. 'We are a lot more understanding than you'd think...'

'Oh to hell with this!' Athos looked round as Richard stepped closer, fists raised, voice full of anger-

'Richard, no!' Athos shook his head, moving in front of the older man as the gunman stepped back a pace in surprise- giving Aramis just the time he needed; drawing his arm forwards he elbowed the man in the stomach, before turning as the man lurched backwards, coughing and spluttering, to get his arms up to wrestle for the gun still clasped in his hand, tearing it from the man's grasp just as they heard a scuffle behind them.

'Stop!' another new voice, deeper this time, echoed through the room- Aramis turned, breathing heavily, the gun now aimed at the young man. His eyes moved across the room, now settling on a man dressed in waiter's garb, with one eye a different colour than the other. A large knife was in his hand and pressed into Athos' neck, who was now stood still, face taut.

'I'll put the gun down if you put the knife down!' Aramis threw out, aiming for the man's chest- he saw the younger man quiver with fear, his eyes wide. Obviously not the brains of the operation, then. 'If not I'll shoot!'

'I'll cut his throat before you even get a chance to aim, boy!' the new man growled -Aramis could see his face was weathered, lined from years of outside work.

'Now, let my brother go and get over here!' he growled, voice full of anger.


	8. Chapter 8

Porthos dearly wished he had a weapon- looking around, he spied a silver tray, some china plates, the last candelabra left on the table; nothing to do much damage or incapacitate someone quickly. He looked down as Jan still held onto his arm, fingers digging into his forearms; he could hear her teeth chattering together in fright.

'Go and stand over there, love...' he whispered gently, moving her away and towards Mo and Debs, who accepted her wordlessly, enveloping her in their circle, their eyes wide as they watched the unfolding scene.

Athos felt the knife press into his neck, yet curiously felt no sharp pain, nor any blood dripping down his neck. He wondered if fake weapons had been brought along as clues for the murder mystery dinner, and that's what this man had picked up...

'I mean it, put the gun down!' the man next to him yelled, pinioning Athos closer to him as he pressed the blade into his neck again. The man had extremely unfortunate body odour, Athos grimaced as he started breathing through his mouth, eyes fixed on Aramis as he turned back to the younger man, the gun still aimed at his chest.

'Why are you doing this?' Aramis said, waving his free hand over to Reggie's body. 'Why? These people did nothing to you whatsoever!'

'Do you know how much the average person in this country earns, especially here in this part of the world?' the man threatening Athos growled, voice dark. 'Too much- while we have to struggle for every meal, to just live every day!'

'So this is just about money?' Richard shot out from the sidelines, voice full of anger. 'You're probably just a couple of lazy layabouts, always on the lookout for handouts, when you could just work for a living like us normal folk-'

'Not helping, Richard!' Aramis called, before he stepped forwards and grabbed hold of the younger brother's arm as he began to struggle, pulling him forwards so he was now the the one holding the gun to his head. Aramis and Athos were now facing each other; their eyes met, trying to convey some sort of plan between them.

'We were having a lovely murder mystery dinner-' Deb's now piped up, voice high with disdain. 'If you hadn't of interrupted it you would have got more ideas for a better motive instead of just money!'

'Debs!' Porthos growled, stepping forwards to reach out and pull her backwards. 'Be quiet, for god's sake!'

'Well, if you're going to go round killing people, at least make it for a better reason!' Deb's hissed, unperturbed even as she clutched Mo's shoulder for support.

'My family worked these fields for generations!' the man holding Athos growled; Athos could now feel the anger radiating from him in waves; the librarians had clearly touched a nerve.

'We were always looked after here! The landowner treated us proper, gave us everything we wanted!' he shot a look at Jan, who balked backwards, fear in her eyes.

'Then, five years ago he died, and we ended up near- homeless. No one would take us in. No one wanted us to work for them-most of our family were forced to move away, but we didn't.' he scoffed humourlessly into the silent room, before his eyes met his brother's.

'We stayed, trying to make ends meet as best we could- we had heard the land and farmhouse was to be sold. We hoped the new owners would allow us to get the land back to its former glory...' he shook his head mirthlessly. 'We came and offered our services to mind the fields, to get the crops back up and running for the next year, but no. They had plans to convert the fields and forest to a _paintball_ area. A getaway destination for rich city folk to spend weekends pretending to shoot each other.'

Aramis' eyes met Jan, saw the tears running silently down her face, and felt immensely sorry for her, before the man continued talking. 'The new owners wouldn't listen to our pleas. They sent us away- our family's lifeblood for generations, now reduced to nothing.'

'Things change, life goes on,' Aramis said, trying to keep his voice level as he held the younger brother closer, gun to his head. 'What did you hope to gain by coming here tonight and killing these people? Innocent people.'

The man shrugged, pressing the blade closer to Athos' neck. 'We want what is rightfully ours!' he hissed.

'You, me and the rest of the world, I'm sure!' Richard spat- Aramis could now see he was bent over Stan, checking him over. Stan needed a hospital, and fast.

'More of us are coming, don't worry!' the man Aramis was holding growled, now suddenly aloof with energy- Aramis struggled to contain him as he twisted in his grasp. 'Steady,' he spat, digging the gun into his shoulder; he had no intention of shooting him, but he had to keep the impression he was.

'If you shoot my brother I'll cut his throat!' the older brother warned, pressing the blade deeper into Athos' neck.

'Oh, give it up!' Richard seemed to have now had enough, stepping forwards he shrugged off the hand d'Artagnan threw out to stop him. 'My friend needs a hospital- you're not killing him so you can play silly buggers because you feel wronged by the world!' he growled- Athos took the split second of time gained by Richard's outburst to angle his face backwards, albeit it a slightly strange angle, before launching his face to the side of the older man's cheekbone- both men stumbled away from each other, holding their faces.

'Porthos!' Athos called, watching through weak vision as Aramis' eyes widened as he fought to keep the younger brother under control.

'Give it up!' he yelled at the older brother, wiping blood from his face as he watched the man as he regained his footing. He felt immense pain start to throb in his face; he wondered if he had broken his nose. 'Put the knife down and we will let your brother go!'

'It's not even a real knife anyway, you stupid man!' Deb's cried, voice almost wild. 'It's a prop!'

'Is that so?' the man said- before anyone could do anything about it, before the man in question could even raise a defensive hand, he quickly stepped forwards, hand raised; Athos yelled out in agony as the man embedded the knife into his shoulder, up to the hilt.

'No!' Aramis cried, letting his gun arm momentarily weaken as he watched Athos grasp the blade in his arm with a garbled, pained cry; the younger brother took this opportunity to twist in Aramis' grasp and knee him hard in the groin, sending Aramis to his knees, the pain causing him to drop the gun.

'No!' d'Artagnan cried, throwing himself forwards to sweep up the gun, but he was too late; the younger brother scooped up the weapon before he and the older brother ran from the room, not looking back.

'No!' Aramis yelled, standing up despite the pain and scrambling up and after the two men.

He felt Porthos and d'Artagnan leap into action behind him- crossing the room he banged open the dining room door to see the two men running down the hallway, towards the door.

A summer storm was now raging outside; lightening illuminated the backs of the two men as they scrabbled for the exits.

'Come back here!' Aramis yelled, throwing himself after them- they couldn't get away with this. The three of them made it to the door at the same time; Aramis was out first, eyes scanning the stony driveway; there they were, running towards the paintballing area... he knew they would never be found if they managed to get into the forest area, and into the countryside beyond.

'NO!' he yelled, running after them- he didn't have time to stop, to dodge, as the younger man twisted as he ran, his gun arm raised. An almighty bang erupted in the darkness, and through the rain and mist Porthos' eyes widened as he saw Aramis go down hard on his back, clutching at his stomach.

'Aramis!' he yelled, falling to his knees beside his friend, watching as fresh, scarlet blood mixed with the brackish rain water, mixing together in puddles as Aramis grasped his stomach, eyes squeezed shut in pain.


	9. Chapter 9

Porthos' eyes widened as he watched Aramis, face creased with pain, groan loudly as he attempted to sit up. 'No, lay down, don't try and get up!' he instructed, before he pulled down on d'Artagnan's arm to get him to kneel down too. 'Stay with him!' he muttered, before standing up and running across to their car, panic erupting in every nerve fibre with each step.

'Aramis, keys!' he called back, cursing himself for wasting time.

'I-in my jacket, up in our room...' Aramis groaned out. He threw his head back, sucking harshly through his teeth in pain as d'Artagnan pressed his hand into the wound, face apologetic yet firm.

'Got to stop the bleeding...' the younger man muttered, his hair plastered to his face with rain as he applied pressure. 'I don't know if the bullet is still in there- we need to get you back inside...'

Porthos swore loudly as he turned back to the car- scooping up a large rock from the ground he let out a growl as he swung his arm at the car window, smashing the glass inwards with a loud shattering sound.

Leaning down towards the seats, he ignored the glass sticking into this arm through his cardigan as he hooked the medical bag and drew it towards him- he looked up as he saw more figures appearing from the house.

'Athos you need to stay inside!' he said, watching as Athos dropped awkwardly to his knees beside Aramis, one hand wrapped round the blade that was still embedded in his shoulder and the other now clasping Aramis' arm. Aramis' tight white shirt was now saturated with blood, and it didn't show any signs of slowing down.

'Tis but a flesh w-wound...' Aramis attempt at humour fell on deaf ears as he followed it up with a long, low groan of pain as Athos now too put his hand onto his stomach wound, joining d'Artagnan in applying pressure to it as blood continued to spread around them.

'Stop talking...' Athos said, teeth chattering against his own pain as he continued pressing on the wound as Porthos delved inside the medical bag. Aramis looked up, eyes widening as he took in the knife in his shoulder more clearly for the first time.

'We need to get you to hospital-' he said urgently, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to move upwards.

'Where do you think you're going?!' Athos admonished, shaking his head as he fought to keep Aramis still.

'I need to see to your shoulder properly- you might have hit an artery!'

'Lay back down, idiot!' Athos scoffed, before he heard Porthos swear beside him. 'We need to make sure you're alright first!'

'We can't do anything out here, the bandages are already getting wet!' Porthos growled.

'We need to get Aramis back inside-' Athos nodded, wiping rain from his face with a bloodied hand. 'Can't Richard come and help?'

'I think he's with Stan-' d'Artagnan replied, before he jumped slightly as Richard knelt beside him, a concerned look in his eyes.

'What do you want me to do?' he asked as he hitched up his now fogged-up glasses, now looking to Porthos as Athos sat back, face paling as he grasped the blade still embedded in his shoulder.

'd'Artagnan will get Athos back inside so we can have a look at his shoulder- we need to get Aramis back inside between us.'

'Righty-ho...' Richard nodded, getting ready. He put a hand on Aramis' shoulder, squeezing gently. 'This is going to hurt, a lot.' he muttered, causing Aramis to laugh, and then grimace in pain seconds afterwards as the movement jarred his stomach.

Nodding after a few seconds of harsh breathing, he braced himself as he felt Porthos grasp under his arms, whilst Richard took hold of his feet.

'Gently!' he heard Athos yell from somewhere to his left, his own voice strained with pain as he too stood up, supported by d'Artagnan.

'Ready?' Porthos muttered, looking to Richard for confirmation- upon receiving it they both stood, moving Aramis upwards between them as they supported his weight.

Aramis yelled out as he felt his stomach stretch; he felt blood dribble down his stomach and onto the floor; he screwed his eyes shut as his stomach erupted in agony. 'Stop, stop!' he yelled, his cries morphing into a low groan as the men kept walking.

'Don't stop, son...' Richard called across to Porthos. 'We can't stop until he's inside.'

Together, the two of them managed to manoeuvre Aramis into the house, and back into the dining area- Mo, Jan and Debs came rushing forwards, hands clasped to their mouths.

'We heard a shot, we thought it was thunder...' Mo cried, watching as Porthos swung an arm at the trays and plates on the table, ignoring the noise as they shattered on the floor as he and Richard hitched Aramis up and onto the table, opposite Reggie's body.

'Is he dead?' Mo cried, hands flying to her mouth.

'I bloody well hope not!' d'Artagnan muttered, voice dark.

'Can't somebody get these damned lights back on?!' Porthos threw out loudly in frustration, despite knowing it was useless- he had seen the cut electricity lines for himself. No help was coming. No one even knew they were in trouble...

He looked across to the other side of the table as he heard panicked muttering- the actors and actresses were still huddled in a corner, eyes now practically bulging out of their faces in fear as they took in the scene. He pointed to the area of the dining area that housed the large fireplace and several armchairs, 'go and sit over there, and don't make too much noise,' he instructed, which they obliged without question.

'Athos...'Aramis cried out suddenly, eyes searching for the other man, before he let out a garbled yelp of pain as Porthos tore out a wad of bandages from the medical bag and thrust it into his stomach, applying as much pressure as he could to staunch the blood flow.

'I'm here, Aramis,' Athos moved closer, trying to swallow down his own pain. 'Don't worry.'

'Your sh-shoulder?'

Athos hesitated- he couldn't pretend his shoulder was any less urgent than Aramis' injury, even though he was much more concerned with whether there was a bullet currently lodged in his friends' stomach. 'Stings a bit...' he settled for saying, watching as Aramis snorted painfully.

'Move out of my way...' They heard Debs mutter from somewhere to their side, her voiced clipped. She appeared at Aramis' side, eyes narrowed as she looked round; obviously finding what she was looking for, she pointed down at d'Artagnan's crotch, 'take it off!' she ordered, voice urgent.

'What, my trousers?' d'Artagnan asked, confused.

'No, your belt, idiot child!' Debs scoffed, snapping her fingers as d'Artagnan undid his belt. 'This man needs a tourniquet, and this will have to suffice...' she muttered once she had been handed the belt, turning to Athos with a set expression on her face. 'I was a nurse for forty years darling, I know what I'm doing...' she said in response to Athos' quizzical look.

'You're all d-dark horses...' Aramis laughed out weakly, eyes closed.

'And you can be quiet, too!' Debs admonished him lightly. 'I'll deal with you in a minute- keep pressure on the wound,' she ordered Porthos, who obliged.

'Now, come closer-' she manoeuvred Athos so she could reach his shoulder better. 'This will hurt, so brace yourself- I won't remove the blade because that's what keeping the blood loss so light, but I need to tourniquet it really hard to stop the excess bleeding, alright?'

'Please hurry, I don't think we should stay here...' Athos muttered, before his eyes almost bulged out of his head as Debs reached round his broad shoulder and, with one fluid movement, twisted the belt and pulled as hard as she could, grimacing with the effort.

'Not that tight!' he growled out, but Debs only scoffed and pulled harder.

'Having a tourniquet isn't a walk in the park like everyone thinks it is...' she muttered, before finally tying an awkward knot into the leather. 'It's stopped the bleeding for now, until we can get some proper help...' she muttered, before now turning and looking down at Aramis, who gave her a weak smile.

He was just about to open his mouth when they heard noises coming from upstairs. 'Is everyone accounted for?' Athos asked the now hushed room-he looked across, mentally counting everyone off.

'Everyone's here, Athos...' Porthos answered in a whisper, his face dark as he too looked up at the ceiling. 'Bats? Squirrels?' he asked, voice hopeful. The loud sound of a window shattering upstairs soon put paid to that idea.

'We have to get out of here...' Debs breathed, eyes fearful. Aramis would have caught her hand and given it a comforting squeeze if Porthos hadn't of just pushed his hand deeper into his stomach wound, causing him to swear loudly and curl into himself, groaning.

Athos looked urgently up as the noises stopped, before they continued in earnest. 'Quick, we need to move Aramis, he can't stay here!' he said, before wincing in pain as he jarred his arm against the table.

'I think there are more pressing matters at hand!' Richard said gruffly, striding to the fireplace and grabbing a poker. 'Like the group of madmen currently coming down the stairs!'

'I'm not leaving him on the table to get picked off first!' Athos shot back, a protective arm already across Aramis' chest as they heard more noises, louder now. 'Porthos, d'Artagnan, quickly!'

'Where do we go?' Porthos asked, voice urgent as he grasped Aramis' legs. He looked across to Jan who was cowering next to Mo, who had just cleared her throat. 'There's a pantry just off the dining room over there-' she said, pointing, '- we use it for cleaning supplies.'

'I'm not hiding in a cupboard, Athos!' Aramis growled out as d'Artagnan now clasped his arms.

'Oh, because you're going to be _so useful_ splayed out on that table, aren't you?' Athos shot back, rolling his eyes.

'You're not going to fare too well with one arm, are you!' Aramis retorted- both men glared at each other for a few seconds.

'If you're going to hide me in a cupboard due to my injuries, you're damn well coming too!' Aramis growled eventually.

'Fine, if it'll shut you up.' Athos nodded, before looking round- everyone jumped in fright as they heard a smash from the other side of the table- Stan was trying to get up from his seat, and in doing so had knocked over a large bottle of rum, which had hit the floor awkwardly and smashed, sending a plume of alcohol onto the carpet in a spray, soaking the carpet.

'Come on Stan, you're coming too- I hope this cupboard is big enough!' Athos said, rolling his eyes as Porthos helped Stan up. 'd'Artagnan, we need to move Aramis, and then-' they fell silent again as they heard more noises upstairs. Thuds and crashes. Glass breaking.

'Quickly!' Athos said, picking up two large knives and stowing them in his pocket. 'One for me and one for you...' he said to Aramis' quizzical look.

Together, d'Artagnan and Porthos managed to manoeuvre Aramis back off the table and, trying to ignore the cries of pain from the man between them as they could, moved him to a surprisingly large and spacious cupboard.

'When you said cupboard, I thought it was going to be a little poky thing...' Athos said to Jan, helping Stan inside and getting him sat down gingerly at the back, hopefully away from any harm. 'Is there any room for the ladies?' Aramis groaned as he too was placed on the floor, breathing heavily.

'Don't worry about us,' Mo piped up, although her quaking voice betrayed her somewhat. 'We'll be ok.'

'But-' Athos stopped as Aramis curled a hand round his wrist.

'Jan said the keys to the gun cabinet were stolen...' he said, teeth now chattering.

'So? They had guns.'

'We're in the country- I didn't see a shotgun with those two before...' Aramis said in a warning tone. 'They should be careful- we should give up our places here, let the girls..'

'You are no good use to us out there in the state you two are in!' Debs scoffed, shaking her head. 'So shut up and sit down- don't go playing the heroes!'

Aramis blinked up at her, trying to think of a retort. He couldn't come up with one. 'Yes, ma'am,' he settled on saying quietly.

'd'Artagnan!' They heard Porthos call out from the dining room. The younger man nodded down at Aramis and Athos, before lowering his tone and he leant down. 'Don't worry about the girls, I'll look after them,' he assured them, before nodding and moving off, shutting the wooden door behind him.

'Let's get this looked at properly shall we?' Athos said after a few beats of silence, leaning down painfully to look at Aramis' stomach. It wasn't bleeding as much, but the once-pristine bandages were now soaked through.

'Did you have an exit wound?' They both looked up as Stan shuffled awkwardly towards them, face clammy and pale.

'You need to just sit back and relax, Stan, otherwise you'll do yourself more damage,' Aramis groaned, before hissing out a breath as Athos probed the wound gingerly.

'Alright, I'll sit back and just watch you bleed out and die right in front of me, shall I?' Stan muttered, before nodding and thumbing his glasses back up his nose. 'As you wish.'

'There's no exit wound,' Athos answered, feeling something icy hit his stomach as realisation dawned.

'Means the bullet is still inside.' Stan stated with a sigh. 'Actually that makes things easier- we only have one hole to worry about.'

'Should we dig it out?'

'Where are we, the first world war?' Stan scoffed, before he looked down at the wound- he looked around a few seconds later, and, spying a bottle of antiseptic spray, grabbed it off the low shelf and sprayed it liberally on his hands, and on Athos'.

'Let's have a look, it might be better to remove it- it depends where it is...' he said, before stopping as Aramis let out a low laugh.

'Don't tell me- you were a surgeon before becoming a librarian?'

'No actually, I was a vet,' Stan smiled weakly as Aramis barked out a laugh. 'Close though.'

All three men stopped as they heard more bangs from above them. It killed Aramis not being able to be out there with the others- he knew Athos felt the same; Athos looked down at him before sighing deeply, eyes creased in worry and abject frustration.

'Brace yourself!' Stan warned- Athos' eyes widened as he watched him dig his fingers into Aramis' gunshot wound- Aramis threw his head backwards, eyes squeezed shut, a loud yell erupting from his mouth.

'Shh...Aramis...' Athos said, panic fizzing as he heard more bangs and crashes- they couldn't give away their positions. Another yell of pain; Athos clasped Aramis' hand tightly, wincing as Aramis squeezed with all his might as Stan continued to probe.

'Stop it, you're hurting him!' he hissed to Stan, who gave him a stern yet apologetic look.

'The bullet is nearer than I thought- if I can get it out we can sort his wound out much better.'

'Can't you do it so he doesn't scream as much?'

'Well...we can gag him if you'd prefer?'

Aramis opened his eyes at that, outraged. 'No, he _doesn't_ prefer!'

'Then you need to try and stop screaming then!' Stan spoke down to him, before continuing with his work. Aramis threw his head back once more as Stan delved his fingers into the wounds. More crashes and bangs could be heard upstairs- In the end Athos couldn't help himself; he put a hand over Aramis' mouth to muffle his cries, eyes apologetic as Aramis opened his eyes and looked up at him.

'Better than gagging you, I suppose?' Athos countered, before he looked round as he heard clattering from upstairs...

* * *

'How many do you reckon there are?' Richard said, looking to Porthos who had moved nearer the door. 'Five? Ten?'

'Shut up!' Porthos hissed angrily. 'We need to be as silent as possible!' he looked round at everyone who were gathered near the table. 'Everyone got a weapon?'

'Yeah...' He heard Mo from somewhere behind him- she brandished a poker; Jan had a large carving fork, and Debs held the last candelabra in her shaking hands.

'Right- we will try and get to all of them before they come anywhere near you, so please don't worry...' d'Artagnan said, giving them what he hoped was a hopeful smile.

Debs nodded, her hands still shaking violently- stepping sideways towards the table, she cried out in alarm as she brushed her arm against Reggie's body. The candelabra slipped from her hands...straight into the slew of soaked-in rum on the carpet.

Deb's eyes widened as flames erupted from the floor, arching upwards and onwards down the trail of rum that had been spilt into the carpet and had slowly been soaking in for the last ten minutes.

Everyone looked around at the sudden crackling sound- orange light illuminated the scene, casting flickering shadows onto the walls.

'Debs!' Porthos growled out in frustration, before they heard an almighty bang from a shotgun blast in the foyer beyond the dining room door. They would have to deal with the fire later, Porthos thought as he turned around, face set in a determined expression.

They were coming.


	10. Chapter 10

The noise started almost immediately- crashes and bangs and the thud thud thud of booted feet running down the tiles of the foyer- d'Artagnan pulled Richard away from his position by the door as Porthos readied himself. 'Go and stay with the others,' he told him, voice leaving no room for arguing. 'Only fight if you need to- these men will kill you.'

'Not if I kill them first!' Richard growled as he stepped closer to the ladies.

'Richard!' d'Artagnan warned, before he stepped back towards Porthos, feeling very unprepared with only a fire iron in his hands. His sprained ankle felt like it was on fire, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind as he readied himself too.

Suddenly, the door to the dining room banged open and five men burst through the door, their faces covered by dark masks and balaclavas. 'd'Artagnan!' Porthos yelled loudly, before he ducked a punch- using his shoulder he heaved the man up and over his back, letting him fall to the floor with a winded groan.

'Look out!' Richard called- Porthos turned and grunted out in pain as he felt a fist connect to his cheek; before he could react the man was down, slumping to the floor- d'Artagnan brandished the fire iron above his head, breathing heavily.

Spitting blood to the floor, Porthos turned and, upon seeing a man heading straight for the girls, launched himself across the room; grabbing the man by his jacket and pulling him roughly backwards, he punched the man and sent him to the floor, clutching his face.

He looked up as a whooshing sound filled the room- the fire, which had originally just been a small affair, was now climbing the thick curtain; choking smoke was rapidly filling the room, making his eyes water and his chest constrict as yet another man ran towards the girls- d'Artagnan got there first, yet Porthos' eyes widened as the younger man was elbowed viciously in the face, before receiving a hard kick to the stomach. Winded, d'Artagnan stumbled backwards, hands splaying out as he tried to stop himself falling backwards; overcompensating, he tumbled forwards, his left hand clutching onto the burning table and into the fiery rum.

'd'Artagnan!' Porthos cried, running forwards to help his friend to get upright- he didn't notice the man running towards the cleaning cupboard as he spotted the scant light under the door frame, a large knife in his hands...

* * *

Athos pressed his hand harder onto Aramis' mouth as Stan continued to dig around, his face tense with concentration. 'You look like you're going to pass out any second...' Athos told him in a whisper, looking across at the older man with concern.

'Well, to tell you the truth I don't feel all that great, either,' Stan conceded quietly. Sweat beaded and ran down his face, and his teeth were chattering slightly with the effort of bending over Aramis.

'Nearly there...' he said, before wiping his face with his sleeve. 'Then we can re-pack the wound.'

'Stan, I can't tell you how much I-' Athos' voice was cut off as they heard loud bangs from outside- suddenly the door to the cupboard burst open; a large shadow filled the space, as if taking in the scene- Athos wasted no time in pushing Stan away back to the other side of the cupboard, before tossing the knife he had kept safe to Aramis.

The man was on them in seconds- Athos scrambled up, arms out as he took the man's forearms even as his shoulder erupted in pain as the knife was moved in the wound, pulling him to the side and away from Aramis, who was trying to painfully sit up, all colour draining from his face as he realised he just couldn't move.

His eyes widened as he felt someone tug at his foot- Stan, trying to pull him further down the cupboard and away from the man fighting Athos.

Athos growled out in anger as he saw the man was holding a large hunting knife, serrated and deadly- holding the man's hand he slammed it against the shelf, again and again, but the man wouldn't drop it. Athos grunted out in pain as the man twisted and kneed him once, twice, in the stomach, before punching him in the nose and sending him spinning sideways- a kick to the back and Athos was down, sprawled onto the floor with a groan, agony filling his body.

The man adjusted his grip on his knife and moved downwards, arm raised as he straddled Athos and prepared to strike- suddenly he straightened with a mottled shout, the knife slipping from his fingers as he tried to reach round to his back. He didn't manage it, and fell backwards instead, dead before he hit the ground- Athos sat up groggily, massaging his face, to see Aramis slump to the floor, a bloodied blade in his own hand.

'Aramis...' He breathed, pushing the dead man away and crawling towards Aramis, who was lying on his side and breathing heavily, blood once again pooling from his stomach onto the floor.

'No... ' he muttered, before looking up as smoke filled the small room. A fire? He couldn't see into the main dining room ahead, but he knew that the three of them in the cupboard needed to get out fast.

'Stan!' he pushed the man's shoulder down to Aramis in a panic as smoke continued to fill the room. 'We need more bandages to stem the bleeding or he's going to die...'

'I have no more bandages,' Stan muttered, before sitting up straighter and pulling off his cassock, revealing a white under shirt, and pushing it into Aramis' stomach. 'We need to get out or he will die,' he looked up as they heard crackling flames. 'We all will, actually...'

'Come on, let's go- we will have to drag him!' Athos groaned as he stood up, a hand to his blade again; it seemed to have moved with all the fighting, but he couldn't do anything abut it now. Aramis needed him.

'We'll have to grab an arm each!' he instructed, before, ignoring Aramis' now weak cries and protestations, both men stood and hitched Aramis up between them. Athos realised with a lurch of panic that Aramis was now not screaming or struggling as much as he did before; looking down at his friend he saw his face was drooping to his chest, his face pale. He needed an ambulance, fast.

He shielded his face as he led the way out of the door and into the main dining room; his eyes widened as he saw the room was now full of smoke, with orange flames licking their way through the soft furnishings of the floor.

'Porthos!' He yelled into the chaos, squinting into the room through the wafts of smoke to see what he presumed to be Porthos, leaning over a smaller figure and clutching at that person's arm.

'Porthos?' he called again, before tightening his grip on Aramis' arm and pulling him gently along- he couldn't tell who was who; they all needed to get out before people started to die through inhaling all this smoke.

'We can't stay here!' he shouted to Porthos- Porthos turned with his face set in a panicked expression, d'Artagnan's arm in his hands. 'He's really burnt his hand, we-'

'Porthos we can't stay here! We're all going to-' Athos didn't manage to finish his sentence as he was suddenly roughly grabbed and pulled backwards; he was glad he had the forethought to release his grip on Aramis, or he and Stan would have been pulled over too- he cried out in pain as the knife moved precariously in his shoulder once more. He knew that a few more movements and the knife would be out, and he couldn't afford the blood loss that came with it.

Grappling with the masked man who held him in a death grip, Athos grunted in pain as the man punched his stomach, and then his face, sending him barrelling into the dining room table, narrowly missing Reggie's body as his side hit the table painfully.

His injured arm now redundant at his side, Athos looked across at the man as he put both his hands up and advanced- seconds later there was a loud, metallic bang; his arms dropped back to his side and he slumped sideways onto the floor.

Debs looked across to Athos as he got gingerly to his feet, a hand lacing round the blade in his shoulder- she let go of the large silver serving tray she had hit the man over the head with, hitting the floor with a clang.

'Thank you,' Athos nodded, putting a hand on her quivering shoulder. 'Get the others, we need to get outside.'

'Alright- I think we've got rid of all of them...' Debs nodded, face still impassive.

'Come on, we have to move fast,' Athos nodded to her gently, before turning back to Aramis- Stan was desperately trying to support his weight, but Athos could see it was a losing battle as Aramis continued to slump sideways, unable to support his own weight.

'Everyone, outside!' he heard Debs call- turning, Athos saw Porthos still with d'Artagnan, who held a shaky hand close to his chest, face lined with pain.

'Porthos, I'll take over with d'Artagnan- help Stan with Aramis...' he said, watching as Porthos nodded and strode over to the two of them; with one fluid movement he grasped Aramis' innate body and hoisted him upwards into a fireman's lift; groaning with exertion he turned to make sure Aramis' head was on his shoulder.

'Lets get out of here...' he said, before moving off, Stan in tow.

'Jan, Mo!' Athos turned and yelled, before moving towards D'artagnan through the smoke; he coughed harshly and wafted the smoke away from his face as best he could, but he knew they couldn't stay in the room much longer; the crackling sound was growing louder and louder- the fire was spreading, he could tell. 'And what have you done to yourself?' he asked, eyes full of concern as he saw the younger man's hand was red raw on the palm.

'Burnt myself...' d'Artagnan groaned- Athos turned and grabbed a jug of water that was on the table, and dunked d'Artagnan's hand into it, wincing himself as his friend hissed out in pain. 'Come on,' he said, picking up the jug and putting it in d'Artagnan's other hand. 'Keep it submerged, its the best we can do- everyone out of here!' he yelled, before watching as all the librarians as well as the actors and actresses made their ways out of the dining room and into the foyer, which he saw was also on fire.

'Outside, now!' he shouted amid the noise; clutching d'Artagnan close to him through the smoke as they all made their ways through the foyer and out through the main doors. 'By the paintballing area, as far away as you can get!' he shouted amidst the now rampant panic as everyone started to realise what had just happened.

Congregating in a large group, Athos and d'Artagnan made their way to where Richard, Stan, Porthos and Aramis was stood; Porthos was knelt beside Aramis, who he had lain on the sopping ground.

'He needs a hospital,' he said urgently as the two of them closer, his face darkened with smoke.

Nodding, Athos felt panic lance in his chest again as they all turned upon hearing a loud cracking noise coming from the house.

'No!' Jan cried, tears streaming down her face as they watched the roof of the house catch fire, the flames lancing skywards.

The group, now subdued and all in a state of shock, watched mutely as the fire raged- d'Artagnan jumped slightly as he felt a weight drop onto his shoulder. A waft of perfume caught his nose, and the clinking of a necklace reached his ears as Debs rested her head on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the night's events. Sighing sadly, he too rested his head on the top of hers as they watched the building become overcome by flames.

Athos looked down at Aramis as rain began again and a roll of thunder sounded ahead- his eyes widened as he saw Aramis had his eyes closed, his face an impassive mask.

'Aramis?' he said, kneeling down in the mud beside his friend. Touching his face he felt panic rise in his chest as Aramis didn't move or even attempt to open his eyes.

'Come on, wake up!' he said, now moving his shoulder, watching as his head lolled to his side.

'Is he...?' Porthos asked, also falling to his knees beside Aramis, eyes wide.

Putting his fingers to his neck, Athos felt for a pulse. It was there, he could feel it.

'He's alive.' he nodded, before he pushed his shoulder again. 'Wake up you stupid sod, just open your eyes!' he said, tears filling his eyes as Aramis didn't even stir.

They all suddenly straightened, alert, as they heard sirens somewhere in the distance- help was finally coming.

Looking down at Aramis, Athos just hoped that they weren't too late...


	11. Chapter 11

**_Epilogue_ **

Aramis awoke slowly with the cloying scent of antiseptic in his nose and the steady beeping of a machine in his ears.

'Someone's awake,' he heard a tired voice say. Athos, he recognised. He wondered idly how he could tell he was conscious without him having even opened his eyes.

'Oh good,' he recognised the next voice as Porthos, from close to his left side. 'I was beginning to run out of grapes.'

Aramis snorted at that and opened his eyes fully- the three of them were sat huddled by his bed, relieved smiles on their faces as Aramis also smiled across at them as cleared his throat; moving his hands across his face he frowned at the tube in his nose.

'Leave it alone,' Athos said, leaning forwards and tapping his hand gently. 'Its a nasal cannula. You've been in and out of it for a few days now.'

'Oh,' Aramis sat back, his throat dry- d'Artagnan, who was sitting on his right, leant forwards and passed him a glass of water. 'Your hand?' Aramis said a crackly voice, eyebrow quirked.

D'Artagnan held up a heavily bandaged hand, grimacing slightly. 'Third degree burns. Hurts like hell, and I only missed out on skin grafts by a whisker...' he said, shrugging.

'Ouch.' Aramis muttered, sitting up straighter as much as he could- he hissed out in pain as his stomach protested.

'Lay back down, Aramis,' Porthos said, eyes full on concern as Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and sank back down in his covers.

'How are you feeling?' Athos asked him, gingerly leaning forwards and resting his elbows on the bed. His arm was in a sling, but even elevated the pain still came in throbs despite the painkillers he had been given.

'Tired.' Aramis said, sighing. 'Better than before though, that's for sure- how about you?'

'Me?' I'm alright, as per usual...' Athos said, waving away the concern.

'Athos...' d'Artagnan said in a warning tone, eyes raised.

'Tell him the truth,' Porthos added, crossing his arms.

'What? Athos?' Aramis turned to his friend, eyes full of concern.

'Look, now you've worried him! It's nothing- I got an infection in the wound and it nearly turned nasty, but I'm _fine_...'

'Fine my arse! They nearly had to take the arm off!' Porthos added, shaking his head.

'What?!' Aramis' eyes widened as his eyes flicked to the sling. 'How is it now?'

'Healing.' Athos said with an edge of finality. Aramis relaxed somewhat at that; he would take a look at the wound later to reassure himself- he looked around the room; his bedside table was crowded with cards, and a half eaten punnet of grapes. He reached across and grasped the largest of the cards- opening it up he chuckled as he read the contents-

_Dear Aramis,_

_We hope you get better soon- you have our eternal thanks and our sincerest best wishes._

_We wish you a swift reco_ _very- don't forget, we have a game to finish!_

_With all our love- Richard, Mo, Stan and Debs._

'So Stan was alright in the end?' he asked, putting the card back and sinking back into his bed- tiredness was coming to him in waves now, and he wondered when the next dose of painkillers would come.

'Yes, they managed to stabilise him in time,' Porthos said in a low voice, nodding. 'The doctor apparently said that if it had been left even half an hour later and he probably would have died.'

'God...' Aramis' eyes suddenly snapped open. 'How did the ambulance find us, anyway? No one could call them?'

'The house went up like a match despite the rain, probably because of the thatched roof- it could be seen for miles away.' Athos sighed, mind flicking back to Jan and the look on her face as her livelihood had burnt down, her partner inside.

As if reading his mind, Aramis asked 'How's Jan?'

'Gone to stay with her mum in Scotland.' Athos replied, flexing his shoulder and trying not to let his discomfort show on his face. 'Poor girl.'

'Yeah...'Aramis breathed, before closing his eyes as pain throbbed in his stomach. He let out a long low sigh as he manoeuvred himself so he was lying back down. 'Hey lads, I've got a good idea...'

'Yeah?' d'Artagnan asked, 'What's that?'

'Next year...' Aramis said, chancing a peak at Athos as he did so, '...Lets just go to the pub for our team-building weekend yeah? Much less dangerous...'

He grinned tiredly as laughter erupted around him. Settling down, he felt himself drift off to the soothing sounds of his friend's conversation over whose turn it was to get the next round of tea, grateful that they had all came out of the weekend alive.

With the luck they seemed to court, that was a very fortuitous ending indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> Thank you very much for coming along on this little ramble with me, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Please comment one last time, I would love to know what you think!
> 
> Happydaygirl x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment- I welcome concrit, or anything you want to give me!


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